


Never Alone

by BubbleGumLizard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Dream Sex, Drug Use, Everyone Thinks They're Together, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Nightmares, Past Mary Morstan/John Watson, Pining John Watson, Reference to Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Separation Anxiety, Sexuality Crisis, Sweet Sherlock, Teenlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his best friend Sherlock Holmes by his side, John Watson had never felt alone.  Now, with university and separation impending, John feels like everything he cares about is slipping away from him.</p><p>Adding to John's anxiety are dreams he's been having about his friend, which show Sherlock in a light he hadn't previously considered.  Is it possible that John is falling in love with his friend?</p><p>"John nodded, even though he knew Sherlock was telling, not asking. 'You’re more important to me than some girl. You’ve been there for me my whole life.'</p><p>Sherlock smiled sadly, as if he regretted the devotion he saw on John’s face. John didn’t like Sherlock being sad, especially about their friendship, which was the best thing in John’s life. 'I think you feeling that way might cause you to be very lonely some day, John.'</p><p>'I’ll never be lonely as long as I have you, Sherlock,' John said, smiling at him. He truly meant it. As a small child, he had felt very alone. Once he met Sherlock, things were infinitely better, and the more time they spent together, the better things were."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **In later chapters, there will be mentions of a rape/non-con situation. If this will bother you, please take care when reading this. I will post a warning like this at the beginning of that chapter, and it will be possible to skip that chapter without destroying the story (there may be further references to that chapter in later chapters, though).**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I'm trying something new for this story (I even edited it, kinda). Please let me know what you think, especially those of you who have read/commented on my other stories.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this story! I'm very excited about it!

_“Fuck me,” Sherlock panted out between moans, wrapping his arms around John’s neck and picking up his pace as he bounced in John’s lap. They were on John’s bed, John sitting and Sherlock sitting on him, facing him, with his long, gorgeous legs wrapped around John’s waist. John was holding Sherlock’s hips in a death grip as he thrust up, his face pressed against Sherlock’s sweaty, bare chest._

_John moaned, amazed that this was happening. He had been waiting so long for this, wanting Sherlock so long that it didn’t seem possible that he was finally getting to be with him. He closed his eyes to savor the moment, wishing it would never end. Sherlock’s body was just as unbelievable as John had imagined, so sexy that John wasn’t sure he’d be able to last much longer. It didn’t help that Sherlock was much dirtier than John had imagined. He moaned again as Sherlock whispered something dirty in his ear, making John want to—_

Fuck. Was that a dream? John blinked a couple times. It had been so vivid. He didn’t normally remember his dreams, let alone such vivid dreams as that. It was very strange, he wasn’t quite sure why he would be having dirty dreams about his best friend. It had never happened before and he was hoping it wouldn’t happen again. He distinctly remembered feeling in the dream like he had been wanting that to happen for quite some time, which wasn’t true, at least as far as John knew. Was his subconscious pining for Sherlock? That would be very strange, especially considering that John had never been anything but straight. He resolved to stop thinking about it. It was doubtlessly nothing meaningful about Sherlock. Probably something unresolved about his childhood. He was sure any student therapist would be able to diagnose his problem as something normal and uninteresting, just like John.

John rolled onto his side and squinted at Sherlock, who was sitting in John’s desk chair, reading by the low light of the desk lamp. Oh god, what if he had done something embarrassing while he was sleeping? John wasn’t sure that he would be able to handle that, it would be just too embarrassing, even with Sherlock, who he knew nearly as well as he knew himself.

“Are you quite well, John?” Sherlock asked without looking up. He looked normal, not like John assumed he would look if John started moaning Sherlock’s name in his sleep. That was a good sign. Perhaps John hadn’t just ruined their friendship with his overactive youthful libido.

“Yes. Just a nightmare.” John hoped that whatever he had done in his sleep was close enough to what one might do in the throes of a nightmare to convince Sherlock. Sherlock would probably know exactly what people having nightmares were like, even though he had only ever shared a bed with John, who hadn’t had one in years.

Sherlock looked up at him with a piercing gaze and John knew that Sherlock knew better than that. Fuck. “From the way you were moaning, I would have assumed it was a pleasant dream.” His voice was low and silky, the way it was when Sherlock had complete confidence in what he was saying. Sherlock knew he was lying.

Shit. Fuck. Bugger, bollocks, god damn. It was awkward to be caught having a dirty dream when your best mate was staying the night. Especially when you shared a bed, as you had every night since your first sleepover at the age of thirteen. He needed to say something to Sherlock to assure him that he wouldn’t do anything silly in his sleep, but he wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to say. What exactly does one say after being caught in the throes of a dirty dream? Should he promise that he wouldn’t touch Sherlock while they were both sleeping, no matter what he was dreaming? It was unspoken rule of their shared bed that they never touched. They had never discussed it, but it would be awkward if touching suddenly started now after all these years. And John knew that Sherlock didn’t like to be touched by anyone. He accepted sporadic hugs from John, who hugged everyone, but beyond that and a hand on his shoulder when John was leaning over him as he sat at his laboratory table or their fingers brushing when John handed Sherlock a cup of tea, there was no touching. John never tried, because he had seen Sherlock shrink back from casual touches by so many people in the years of their friendship.

“I…” John stared at Sherlock, at a complete loss for what to say. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make everything worse, which is what he was sure would happen if he opened his big mouth and tried to make it better. Probably best to flounder for words like an idiot, then. At least Sherlock would just think that he was stupid and not romantically inclined toward Sherlock. Which he wasn’t. At least, he was fairly certain he wasn’t.”

“Relax, John. It happens.” Sherlock still looked completely normal, like he believed what he was saying. John started to hope that he hadn’t cocked everything up with his ridiculous dream. Then John realized Sherlock’s phrasing, which seemed slightly strange.

“What do you mean, ‘it happens’?” John asked, suddenly terrified that he had done this before. He and Sherlock were very close, but he wasn’t sure he could handle knowing that he had been moaning in his sleep and Sherlock had just ignored it. It would make things very awkward for them, and it was a bad month for things to be awkward between John and Sherlock, considering that they would soon be parted.

“You’re a normal eighteen-year-old boy, John. I assume that it’s not the first dirty dream you’ve had.” Sherlock was smiling slightly. John could tell that he was amused by this conversation, that he wasn’t upset about anything that had happened, he just found it interesting and entertaining. He liked when he amused Sherlock, but he didn’t like when it was something anxiety-inducing and embarrassing that was the cause of the amusement. Sherlock didn’t embarrass like normal people, so he probably couldn’t understand how John was feeling.

John rubbed his eyes. He didn’t feel awake enough for this conversation, especially after a dream like that. He wanted to have time to think and figure out why he was suddenly having dreams, especially sexual dreams involving his best friend. “I don’t dream Sherlock, not anymore. At least, I don’t remember it.”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, studying John. This was obviously new information to Sherlock, which surprised John. John had thought that Sherlock knew everything about John, even that he hadn’t had a dream he remembered in years. “Not at all? I knew your nightmares were lessened, but I thought you still had normal dreams.”

John shrugged. He checked the time on his phone and groaned. It was three five in the morning, way too early to be up and talking about this. Not to mention, Sherlock clearly hadn’t slept yet. John didn’t like when Sherlock didn’t get enough sleep and he knew that by ten, Sherlock would be up and ready to begin the day, making John wake up because he was bored. “You should get some sleep, mate. It’s really late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

“Yes, I should.” Sherlock put the book he was reading down on the desk, flipped the switch off, and then climbed into the other side of the bed, his normal spot. He stretched out, sighed happily, and rolled onto his side so he was looking at John, his usual position for falling asleep. “Good night, John.”

John rolled over to look at Sherlock, smiling. He always felt happy watching Sherlock fall asleep, knowing that his friend would be there if he ever needed anything in the night. “Good night, Sherlock.”

As Sherlock closed his eyes and his breathing became regular, John stayed awake, thinking about him and their friendship. Their last school break before they went off to university had just begun. Sherlock was attending the best university in the country, naturally, and John was attending medical school, with plans to join the army once he was done. They would be separated for the first extended period of time in their twelve-year friendship. They only had a few short weeks together before they were ripped apart by life and adulthood, and John was becoming more and more upset with the situation every day. He didn’t want to be away from Sherlock, he wanted to move into a flat with his friend and live together forever. They had discussed the future, though, and it made sense for them to go to different schools, as much as neither of them wanted to be apart. Sherlock always saw things the most logical way and John couldn’t argue with him that it made sense, so that’s what they had decided to do.  
  
They met when they were six and immediately became inseparable. With the exception of the one time Sherlock’s parents tried to take him on holiday, during which trip he made it abundantly clear that he was not going to be kept away from his best friend (he set the hotel on fire), they hadn’t spent a day away from each other since they met. They had attended the same posh school, Sherlock because that’s how his family was, and John because of a scholarship program that paid for his tuition. Outside of school, they practically lived at each other’s houses, spending the night together every night since they were thirteen, switching between their houses according to their moods and what they were doing before bed.

When their parents initially tried to deny them sleepovers on school nights, John’s mum found Sherlock sleeping snugly in John’s bed when she went in to wake him in the morning. No matter what the parents tried, the boys wanted to be together and Sherlock made his way to John’s house every night, even when his parents tried to lock him in his room. Eventually, the parents gave up. Their grades weren’t suffering and they were so pleasant when they were permitted to spend so much time together that they were both doing extra chores around the house without being asked (John’s idea, to keep the parents happy). The parents sat down with the boys and had a conversation laying some ground rules, telling them that as long as they both did well in school and continued to take care of their other responsibilities, they would be permitted to stay together at night, but once anything slipped, they wouldn’t be allowed to be together. This had encouraged both John and Sherlock to do extremely well in school, because it was easier to get good marks and have happy parents than to fight to be with each other.  
  
When John was fifteen, his mum asked Sherlock to go home until dinner, because she needed John’s help with something. This was unusual, but she had told Sherlock to come back in a bit, so neither of them argued with her about it. She sat him down at the kitchen table and fixed him with a curious look. He expected her to say something, but she didn’t, she just looked at him as if she were trying to understand a particularly complex problem.  
  
“What is it, Mum?” John asked eventually, unnerved by her stare. He was starting to worry that he had done something wrong or that she was going to give him some terrible news. Or worse, maybe she wanted to know something about Harry. It had been bad enough when Harry came out, John couldn’t tell his mum, who had been forced to choose between her homophobic husband and her daughter, that the daughter she had given up her twenty-year marriage for was getting pissed every night.  
  
“What is your relationship with Sherlock?” she asked hesitantly. She looked uncomfortable, like she was about to hear something that she didn’t want to hear. Her eyes were big and she was chewing on her lip, wringing her hands in her lap. John was relieved that this wasn’t about Harry, but it was a very odd question.

“My relationship with Sherlock? We’re friends, you know that.” John didn’t understand what she was asking. Why would she ask that? They had been friends since they were kids, she knew exactly what their relationship was. It wasn’t as if John and Sherlock hid anything from their parents. In fact, they were two of the most truthful teenagers they knew. Well, about some things. Their parents didn’t need to know about some of the failed experiments Sherlock had conducted. There was no proof that he had caused that fire anyway and no one had been hurt, so it didn’t really matter.

“I’m simply wondering if there isn’t something more there.” She avoided his confused eye contact, looking instead at the floor next to the chair he was sitting in. She was definitely worried about his answer, which was confusing to John. What else could there be to their friendship? “Like romantic things.”

“Romantic… Mum!” John exclaimed, horrified when he realized what exactly she was suggesting. It was something he had never considered, having a romantic relationship with Sherlock. Sherlock was a boy, which placed him firmly in the Not John’s Type category. “We’re not gay! We’re mates. Best mates.” The fact that he needed to explain that to his mother was distressing. Did he and Sherlock act like a couple? Sure, they slept together, but all they did was sleep, he thought that was clear.

“What’s going to happen when you find a girlfriend, then? Or what if Sherlock finds a boy--girlfriend.” That was a strange slip of the tongue she had. Did she think Sherlock was gay? As far as John could tell, Sherlock wasn’t anything. They had never really discussed it, but when John talked to Sherlock about girls, Sherlock was simply supportive, he didn’t add any of his own comments or feelings about girls. He knew that John wasn’t homophobic, though, so there was no reason for him to hide it if he were gay. John supposed that Sherlock might come off as girly at first glance, but he wasn’t at all girly if you knew him.

John blushed. “Well, mum, I sorta… I’ve been dating someone.” He hadn’t been hiding it from her, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her about his new relationship yet. It was the first time he had dated anyone and he didn’t want his mother doing anything embarrassing, like asking her over for dinner.

“Really? Who?” She seemed surprised, a lot more surprised than John expected she would be when he told her. Did she really think he was gay? He wasn’t aware that he had done anything to give that impression. He wondered if anyone else thought he was gay. The kids at school thought that he was weird for being friends with Sherlock, who was almost universally reviled by the posh idiots at the school, but he wasn’t sure if they thought that John and Sherlock were a couple. His girlfriend didn’t know many people from their school, being a local girl he knew from being neighbors with her, and most of his schoolmates being boarders.

“Do you remember Mary Morstan? I asked her out last month.” It was his turn to avoid eye contact, looking down at the floor. He did not want to be talking to his mum about this. What if she asked something about sex? He was sure he wouldn’t survive the humiliation of a conversation like that.

“And Sherlock gives you time alone?” She leaned forward slightly, clearly very curious about John’s relationship. A conversation like this was why he hadn’t said anything to her about it in the first place.

“Of course he does. We don’t spend every second of the day together.” John was beginning to be irritated. Did she think that Sherlock was the focus of his life? Sure, they spent a lot of time together, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t spend time apart. Sherlock understood that John wanted to be with a girl sometimes. Probably. John hadn’t discussed it with Sherlock, but Sherlock didn’t exactly hide his emotions, so John assumed that he would be clear if he had some sort of problem with the situation.

“Then why do you insist on sleeping together every night? You have to admit, it sounds like there’s something extra happening there.” She was staring at him hard now, like she didn’t quite believe what he was saying. He knew that she was just worried because of everything she had been through with Harry, but John was annoyed with how little she seemed to trust him. He had done nothing his whole life but prove himself trustworthy.

John kept his eyes firmly trained on his folded hands. He didn’t want to explain to his mum that the recurring nightmares he had as a child were still recurring, that they didn’t go away until he slept in a bed with Sherlock. He slept next to Sherlock’s warm, comforting presence and knew that nothing could hurt him with his friend there. When they discovered this at a sleepover, Sherlock had vowed to never sleep away from John again. He had no answer for her without becoming very vulnerable. They didn’t have the sort of relationship where vulnerability was normal, not like his relationship with Sherlock, so he didn’t feel comfortable answering her when she asked why he slept with Sherlock.

Of course, now John was going to have to learn to sleep alone again, John thought as he lay in bed, watching Sherlock sleep, bathed in moonlight that streamed in through the window. He’d be sharing a room with someone at school, so hopefully it wouldn’t be as bad as it would if he were alone, but here was no way to be sure. He would just have to hope that five years without a nightmare would have trained him to sleep by himself. It had been so long since he had the dream, but there was a chance of it coming back after all these years. More than being afraid of being away from home or the increased difficulty of the work, he was afraid of sleeping alone and the nightmare coming back to torture him again.

He could always find a girlfriend, he mused. Or a boyfriend, considering his preferences seemed to have become more inclusive. The thought of sex or a relationship with a man didn’t seem enticing, however, it was just the thought of sex with Sherlock that he couldn’t get out of his head, which was confusing. He had never considered Sherlock that way before, thinking of him as a very good friend he loved in a platonic way. John wasn’t under any illusions about their relationship, he knew it was oddly close and that they were more or less already in a relationship, which had been made clear the previous year, when he broke up with Mary.

They were seventeen and had been dating for two years. Mary had been his first kiss, his first sexual partner, and, he thought, his first love. One day, Mary asked him if they could talk without Sherlock around. That was unusual, considering they spent nearly all of their time with Sherlock, something that Mary had never complained about. John reluctantly agreed and went for a walk with her, leaving Sherlock in John’s room, doing schoolwork. As they left, Sherlock gave John a strange look, but didn’t say anything. John figured that Sherlock knew exactly what the conversation was about and didn’t want to say anything to John, which meant that it was probably a bad conversation.

“Are you in love with me, John?” Mary asked quietly, looking down at the ground as they walked. Mary had never been shy about discussing their feelings and she had never given any indication that she doubted John’s devotion to her, so this question was surprising.

“Of course I am,” John said with a smile, reaching out and holding her hand. “Do you not believe me?” He was suddenly worried. He wanted to be a good boyfriend to Mary and if she thought he didn’t love her, he was failing.

“It just seems like you love Sherlock more.” She pulled her hand away from his and kept walking, not meeting his eyes. John frowned. Of course he loved Sherlock, he was John’s best friend. he had the impression that Mary didn’t mean friendly love, though.

This must be what his mum was talking about when she regularly reminded him that he was in a relationship with Mary, not Mary and Sherlock. He had thought she was just being silly, since everything was going so well with both his friendship with Sherlock and his relationship with Mary, with neither of them complaining about spending so much time together.

“He’s my friend, Mary.” John knew he sounded defensive, but he felt defensive. He was unprepared for this attack and he was frustrated that Mary, who knew him so well, could think that there was anything other than friendship between John and Sherlock. He had thought that she understood why Sherlock’s friendship was so important to him. She knew everything about them, the whole history of their relationship, so she should understand, even if she didn’t.

“It’s like you two are dating. I feel like the third wheel. You even sleep in the same bed every night! I might like to sleep with you one night, you know.” She turned to look at him, but John was looking away, wanting to avoid everything about this conversation. He hated having to defend himself because of his relationship with Sherlock. Why couldn’t people just understand that they were friends and that was it? It didn’t seem a particularly difficult concept to master. Sherlock was right, they were surrounded by idiots.

Deciding to face his problems and not run away from them like a coward, he forced himself to look at Mary. He didn’t manage eye contact, but he was able to look somewhere between her shoulder and ear, so he counted that a success. He didn’t want to discuss Sherlock with her, but he wanted to be sure to clear the air so that there was no drama about the situation.

“I told you why we sleep in the same bed. You’re the only one who knows about it besides him. My mum and Harry don’t even know.” He couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. The fact that he had shared something so personal with her meant something to him, and he was upset that she didn’t understand how meaningful it was.

“Wouldn't you like to see if sleeping with someone else helps? Why don’t you ask Sherlock to stay at his house tonight and I’ll sleep over at yours?” She sounded so hopeful, but all John could hear was that she was asking him to send Sherlock away. The thought of not being with his best friend made panic well up in his throat. He needed Sherlock there. They hadn’t been apart for a night in four years and John wasn’t ready for that to happen yet.

“I don’t want to do that. I like my friendship with Sherlock and I don’t want to destroy it by taking a chance that things are different now.” He looked away from her again, his panic fading to a slight anger that she would even suggest such a thing. She must not have listened at all when he told her why he was so close to Sherlock. He supposed it was odd that the thought of being away from Sherlock had such an effect on him, but in the middle of the conversation, he didn’t have time to analyze his reactions.

“Which do you like more, your friendship with Sherlock or your relationship with me?” Her voice was quiet and sad. John thought about what she was asking, wondering why she would ask something like that. When he realized where she was going with the question, he stopped walking and stared at her, trying to make sure that’s what she meant.

“Are you asking me to choose?” he asked, trying to keep the sudden all-consuming rage out of his voice. The thought that Mary would force him to choose between dating her and his friendship with Sherlock made him want to yell and hit something. There were no nearby pillows or punching bags, however, so he settled for clenching and unclenching his fists as he waited for her response.

After watching him for a moment, her face as white as a sheet and tears in her eyes, she finally answered him, “I don’t want to, but I feel I have to. You can’t be in a relationship with both me and Sherlock.” She looked afraid that he might hit her. Did this girl not know him at all?

“I’m not in a relationship with Sherlock!” John said angrily. He paused for a moment and then, for the first time in the conversation, looked her square in the eye. “And apparently I’m not with you, either.” He turned and walked away, back to his house, where Sherlock was waiting. He was finished. If Mary thought that he needed to choose between her and Sherlock, the choice was easy. It was the simplest question he had ever been asked.

“John, wait!” she cried, hurrying after him. Her tears had started falling and she was breathing heavily. John felt a strange sense of satisfaction at her distress. He didn’t like such a nasty feeling, but she had told him to choose, and he had chosen Sherlock. The fact that she now regretted that decision just solidified his choice in his mind.

John didn’t turn around. In fact, he picked up his pace, easily walking fast enough that she would have to break into a run to reach him. “It’s over, Mary. We’re done.” He meant it, wondering what he could have ever seen in a girl like her.

Mary started crying loudly, alternating between sobs and cries of anguish right there in the middle of the street, but John didn’t care. He was so angry that she would ask him to choose between her and Sherlock that he didn’t care about her tears. He supposed that she thought he would feel upset by her breakdown or perhaps embarrassed at the scene she was causing. He ignored the people on the street who were staring at them, going into his house and shutting the door, leaving there to her attempted emotional manipulation.

When he went back into his bedroom, where Sherlock was still doing school work, Sherlock looked up at him inquisitively. “Where’s Mary?” John had a feeling that Sherlock knew precisely what had happened, but wanted to hear it from John anyway. John liked that Sherlock did that, allowed John to tell him big things in his own time, in his own way, even when Sherlock knew what John was going to say.

John flopped down onto his bed and stretched out, looking t the ceiling. “I don’t know, nor do I care.” It was the truth. As if a switch had flipped, he couldn’t care less what Mary was doing. It made him wonder if he had ever loved her or if he had just been using her and lied to himself about how he felt.

Sherlock turned to stare at John with a normal, even stare. He wasn’t upset or worried about anything, he was totally accepting of what he could read on John’s face. “You broke up with her because of mme.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact, the way Sherlock normally knew exactly what had happened or what John was thinking.

“It wasn’t really because of you. She doesn’t understand our friendship.” It wasn’t a lie. Sherlock wasn’t to blame for Mary trying to tear apart John and Sherlock, that was all Mary’s fault. John wasn’t exactly sure how Sherlock would feel about the situation, if he would feel any kind of guilt for causing the demise of John’s relationship, but John didn’t want to find out. Sherlock hadn’t done anything wrong in the situation, so there was no reason for him to feel guilty. Sherlock wasn’t the best with emotions, but he did feel guilty when something he did negatively affected John.

“She made you choose between us,” Sherlock said quietly, still studying John closely. John knew he was looking for any reaction on John’s face, any sign that John blamed Sherlock for what had happened. Knowing his own thoughts, John didn’t try to hide anything, he just let his emotions run rampant across his face. Since he was mainly feeling anger directed at Mary and relief that he had learned of her feelings about his relationship with Sherlock, he knew that Sherlock wouldn’t feel anything to make himself feel guilty.

John nodded, even though he knew Sherlock was telling, not asking. “You’re more important to me than some girl. You’ve been there for me my whole life.” He smiled, thinking of the times that Sherlock had been around when John needed something, of the friendship that Sherlock had freely given without asking for anything in return.

Sherlock smiled sadly, as if he regretted the devotion he saw on John’s face. John didn’t like Sherlock being sad, especially about their friendship, which was the best thing in John’s life. “I think you feeling that way might cause you to be very lonely some day, John.”

“I’ll never be lonely as long as I have you, Sherlock,” John said, smiling at him. He truly meant it. As a small child, he had felt very alone. Once he met Sherlock, things were infinitely better, and the more time they spent together, the better things were. He nodded at Sherlock, who didn’t seem to believe John, and then immersed himself in a book.

Things had gone back to normal after that, John and Sherlock’s friendship stronger than ever. Sherlock made a few comments here and there about John being lonely, with John assuring him that he was wrong about how John felt. John no longer wanted to date anyone, happy with his life the way it was. The only reason he could see to date a girl was sexual gratification, and he thought that was a pretty terrible reason to start a relationship with someone.

Maybe that’s why he had a dirty dream about Sherlock. It had been over a year since his relationship with Mary, which was the last time he had had sex. He had, of course, taken care of himself in that respect, but he had to admit that his own hand couldn’t compare to someone else. That was it, he was just sexually frustrated. There was no other reason for it, just a simple case of eighteen-year-old boy and raging hormones.

He hoped that was the case, because the alternative wasn’t very appealing. The thought that he might have romantic feelings for Sherlock was alarming, to say the least. He had never been interested in men, and he was certain that he still wasn’t, but lying in bed, watching Sherlock sleep, he could see himself leaning forward and kissing Sherlock, caressing his cheek and whispering sweet nothings to his best friend, the boy who was so important to John.

John rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to banish thoughts of climbing on top of Sherlock and grinding down into him, snogging him senseless while they rutted together, orgasming in unison, gasping out declarations of love between groans of pleasure. Realizing that John was precariously close to an awkward situation with Sherlock, he slid out of bed and headed to the shower.

Considering that John and Sherlock had been sharing a bed since before puberty, they had worked out a tacit understanding about things like that. John disappeared to the shower for a while, took an extra-long shower, and then returned to whatever they were doing (sleeping, in this case) and Sherlock pretended that it never happened. It had worked well to minimize awkwardness, and allowed John the release he needed when he needed it. He had noticed that Sherlock never seemed to do something similar, but that just confirmed John’s assumption that Sherlock wasn’t interested in sex or anything like that.

As John let the hot water wash over him, he reached down and began stroking himself gently, thinking about his dream. He had never had a sex dream before, and it had been more vivid than he remembered his recurring nightmare being. He could still feel Sherlock’s flesh on his, still taste the sweat on his tongue from kissing Sherlock’s neck and chest. Losing himself in the sensations he could remember from the dream, he closed his eyes and stroked faster, allowing himself to finish the dream in his mind, thrusting up into Sherlock until he tipped over the edge and came, the word “Sherlock” dying on his lips.

As he began to finish his shower, washing himself off, an intense feeling of loneliness overtook him. He leaned heavily on the wall, suddenly feeling as if he couldn’t breathe because his loneliness was so great and crushing. He gasped out, tears burning his eyes, as he thought of how he could never have what had happened in his dream. He certainly wasn’t going to risk the friendship by telling Sherlock about his dream and he wasn’t sure that even if he did and Sherlock wanted some sort of sexual relationship, if John would be okay with that. Other than a lack of certain anatomical features John found particularly interesting, there was very little in the dream that was different than being with a woman. He wasn’t sure that he had an interest in sex with a man, even Sherlock.

Yes, he was stuck, alone and horny, at least until he figured out if he actually wanted to sleep with Sherlock or if he wanted to find a girlfriend. At the moment, he was too confused to decide which option was what he wanted. He would have to sift those feelings later, when it was a better hour for his brain function.

He returned to bed, feeling a bit better after his shower. He lay on his side again and watched Sherlock, who was still sleeping. He had no idea what he wanted, but he hoped he could figure it out soon, before his life ended when the summer was over and he was forced to be away from Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Oh, just like that,” Sherlock murmured breathlessly. John could feel Sherlock’s hand resting on the back of his head, not pushing but adding the slightest bit of pressure to spur John on. John repeated the sucking motion, enjoying the vocal response he received from Sherlock, the moans, cries of pleasure, and murmured invocations of various deities (though he did find the appeals to Odin rather odd). If he could listen to only one thing for the rest of his life, Sherlock drunk on pleasure would be it._

_John was on his knees with his back to the wall, holding tightly to Sherlock, who was standing in front of him, one hand anchored on the wall for support and John licked, kissed, and sucked Sherlock’s extremely hard cock. John’s hands gripped Sherlock’s hips so hard that he was sure he was going to leave bruises, but he didn’t care. John would have thought that he wouldn’t like this particular act, but there was something so satisfying about having Sherlock’s cock in his mouth, filling all of his senses with pure Sherlock._

_“John, I lo—”_

John never had a chance to learn what Sherlock was going to say, as he woke up right at that moment. Every time he had one of the dreams, Sherlock started to say something right as John woke up. John had a theory of what Dream Sherlock was saying to him, but he didn’t know for sure. Not that it really mattered. It was, after all, just a dream, a fantasy that could never come true. It would be foolish to allow himself to base his hope on dreams he was having.

***

The dreams kept coming and John wasn’t sure what to do about them. He tried everything he could find online to stop himself from dreaming, even some silly holistic remedies that would make Sherlock snort with derision if he knew, but nothing worked. Eventually, he just embraced the dreams and started enjoying them, seeing the different ways that his mind wanted him to be with Sherlock. Surprisingly, there were a lot of things that Dream John really enjoyed doing that Awake John would never have considered. He started to wonder if he weren’t actually gay, leading to some very frank conversations in his head, during which he decided that he didn’t need to worry about the label so much. That attitude wouldn’t help him with the rest of the world if he ever decided to date a man, but he didn’t foresee that being a problem until he could sort out whether Sherlock was interested in him or not.

It was lucky for John that the dreams always ended before anything embarrassing happened to John and he was able to slip into the shower for some alone time where he could relive the dreams. It would have been far too awkward if John had a nocturnal emission while sharing a bed with Sherlock. He could hide many things from Sherlock while he was asleep, but John was sure that Sherlock would notice if John had an orgasm while he was in the same bed as Sherlock. As far as John knew, Sherlock was none the wiser to his guilty little secret and that was the way John wanted to keep it.

The summer went on as normal, much the same as their last summers had been. John spent his days playing rugby in the park with the lads while Sherlock read nearby and planned experiments. In the evenings, they returned to one of their houses, depending on whether Sherlock was working on an experiment or not (his lab was at his house, naturally) and spent time together, watching films, talking, or reading their preferred books in companionable silence. It was John’s favorite way to live, spending that time with Sherlock. He wished that life could be like that for the rest of his life.

One day, he was playing rugby after leaving Sherlock at the library. They did that often, Sherlock staying to do research for his experiments while John played with the lads. Usually, when Sherlock finished his work, he went to the park and sat under a shady tree, watching John play. There was always some teasing from the other boys when Sherlock watched John, especially considering that the two of them left together, exacerbated by rumors going around school that they slept in the same bed (thank you, Mary). John normally ignored the teasing and Sherlock was immune to it, when he was even paying enough attention to hear what the boys were saying, so it wasn’t really an issue. Even if the other boys disliked Sherlock, nearly everyone like John, so it was rarely meant in a mean way anyway.

John was stretching, getting ready for the game, when Philip Anderson came over with a nasty grin on his face. John knew by the look on his face that he was there to be a jerk, so he prepared his mental defenses. An idiot like Anderson could never say anything to really hurt John, but he tried regularly.

“Where’s your boyfriend, Watson?” Anderson asked, looking around exaggeratedly. He squinted at Sherlock’s usual tree. “I don’t see him where he normally watches your arse as you play.”

“Fuck off, Anderson,” John said, not even looking at him. The summer was nearing its end and he didn’t have time to be annoyed at Anderson, even if Anderson managed to hit the one subject that was particularly sore for John at the moment. Nothing was going to ruin his last week with Sherlock, especially not a waste of breath like Anderson.

“Did he dump you? Realize that he couldn’t stand to date someone attending a university so beneath him?”

John rolled his eyes as Anderson laughed at his own joke. Anderson’s taunts were ridiculous, because John was going to medical school in London, a school that wouldn’t have accepted Anderson if his parents bought it. Sherlock was way too brilliant for a school like the one John was attending, but that didn’t mean anything. They had known for years that Sherlock was brilliant and John was nothing other than ordinary. That wasn’t a reason for Sherlock to not want a relationship. Or was it?

Oh, right. Anderson, being a twat. He should do something about that. “I believe I told you to fuck off,” John told him, still not looking at Anderson. If he didn’t respond the way Anderson wanted, perhaps Anderson would just leave. Unlikely, but possible.

“Oh, that’s right,” Anderson said with a chuckle. “Not even you will date Sherlock. Everyone knows how he follows you around like a little puppy. It must be embarrassing for you, having someone so pathetic be in love with you. It’s quite sad, really.”

“Shut it, Anderson,” John said through gritted teeth, finally looking up at him. Insulting John was one thing, insulting Sherlock was something else entirely. The good-natured ribbing amongst the boys who played did not extend to Sherlock, who was normally not teased within earshot of John, for good reason. The last time someone had tried that, he had ended up with two black eyes. It had been difficult to explain that to Sherlock, who John didn’t want to know about the situation.

Anderson grinned, looking proud that he found a weak spot in John’s armor. He rubbed his hands together, excited for a chance to show what a complete idiot he truly was. “What, getting embarrassed that people might think you’re dating Sherlock? I know I would be, too. He’s so—”

He was cut off by John tackling him, unable to listen to any more insults directed at Sherlock. John sat on his chest and punched him in the face, clearly having the upper hand in any physical altercation. He went easy on Anderson, punching lightly, but still wanting to make his point clear. Eventually, the other boys pulled him off, some boys helping Anderson up while others herded John away from him. “Go cool down, John,” one of the boys who organized the game said, pushing John in the direction of home. “Come back when you can act civilized.”

“Yeah, I’m the uncivilized one,” John said angrily. “Did you hear what he said? He started it!”

His friend held his hands out helplessly. “I know he started it, but then you attacked him. Just go calm down. Come back and play tomorrow. We’ll make sure he’s learned his lesson.” He looked sincere, so John knew that the boys would have a talk with Anderson about Things Not to Say When Discussing Sherlock Holmes with John Watson, but he was too angry to care.

“Oh, stuff your stupid game!” John said and stormed off. He hated that a moron like Anderson could think anything about Sherlock. Sherlock was so clearly above petty boys like Anderson, or even John. That was part of the problem. Sherlock had never shown an interest in dating, which was probably because John, his only friend, was too ordinary for a romantic relationship. Anderson, the idiot, apparently even knew that John was in love with Sherlock, the only explanation for taunts about Sherlock being lovesick. That obviously wasn’t true, John was the lovesick one and Anderson had somehow picked up on it.

He decided to go back to the library where Sherlock was, deciding to put an end to this once and for all. If Sherlock was interested in him, that would be great. If Sherlock wasn’t, that would be terrible, but at least he would know. It might kill John, being told that Sherlock didn’t return his love, but it was better to die from rejection than waste away pining for the love he would never receive from a boy who was clearly so superior to John.

He looked around Sherlock’s usual spot, confused when he wasn’t there. They hadn’t crossed paths on John’s walk to the library and Sherlock always went straight to the park when he was done with his research. There were very few things that John could think might tear Sherlock away from his research or stop him from going to the park with John, and none of them were good.

Hoping that something bad hadn’t happened, he raced over to Sherlock’s house, knocking for what seemed like forever. When no answer came, he started to be concerned. He walked around the house and looked up at Sherlock’s window. There was no indication that Sherlock was in there, but John had a feeling that’s where his friend was. He called Sherlock’s phone, but the call went unanswered. Sherlock never ignored his calls, not even when the phone rang in class and got him in trouble.

Deciding that this counted as an emergency, John climbed up a conveniently placed tree, wobbling slightly on the slightly-too-small branch he had to balance on to knock on Sherlock’s window. When he received no response, he tried to push the window up and was surprised to see that it opened easily. Of course Sherlock wouldn’t keep his windows locked. Very accommodating of him.

He climbed through the window, almost falling as the branch gave out underneath him and stood panting next to the window, staring at Sherlock, who was lying with his back to the room, curled up. Why on Earth was Sherlock lying on his bed, ignoring John? Sherlock never ignored John!

“I know you’re not sleeping,” John said irritably. After his morning, he was in no mood for any silliness from Sherlock. “What are you playing at? Why didn’t you let me in? I nearly died trying to get in here!”

Sherlock rolled over and looked at John. His eyes were red, like he had been crying, which startled John. In the many years of their friendship, John had never seen Sherlock cry. He was sure that’s what had been happening here, however. “Why would you want to be here?” Sherlock asked bitterly, taking in a shaky breath as another tear fell.

John sat on the bed, instinctively reaching out for Sherlock’s face. to wipe the tear or caress his cheek. It didn’t matter what his hand did once it got there, as long as he was able to touch Sherlock and comfort him in some way. He realized what he was doing before he made contact and snatched his hand back quickly as if Sherlock were made of something that burned John’s hand. The last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to know how John felt. Obviously he couldn’t make his big declaration now, it would have to wait. “Sherlock, what’s wrong?” he asked, all of the anger gone from his voice. “What happened?”

Sherlock looked away from John as more tears fell. Whatever happened, it had Sherlock more upset than John had ever seen him. “I saw you. I came to watch you play and I saw you hit Anderson.” He closed his eyes like it gave him great pain to say that and John was slightly confused. Sherlock hated Anderson, he should have been rejoicing that John finally hit him, as he so richly deserved.

“So? You always want me to hit Anderson.” John couldn’t keep his confusion and uncertainty out of his voice.

“Not for saying that,” Sherlock said in a whisper, opening his eyes but still avoiding John’s gaze. He wiped away his tears, looking completely miserable and breaking John’s heart.

John was bewildered. Why wouldn’t Sherlock want John to defend him? “I should think you would be pleased with me!” he said angrily.

“Why? Why would I be pleased that the idea of dating me is so repellent that you hit someone who suggests it? Now please leave.” He rolled back over, facing the wall.

Oh my god. Sherlock thought that John hit Anderson for saying that John and Sherlock were dating. John would have laughed at how ridiculous that was, if Sherlock weren’t so upset about the situation. Instead, he tried for a sweet tone of voice to convince Sherlock that he had misunderstood the situation, never an easy task. “Sherlock, that’s not what—”

“Leave, now!” Sherlock interrupted him. He curled even tighter in on himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. “Or I will call my parents and have them evict you from the premises.” His voice was muffled, which was adorable in an absurd way, but John knew that it wasn’t the right time to bring that up to him.

John frowned. He knew when arguing with Sherlock was futile and this was one of those times. He knew he should leave, as Sherlock had asked, but he wasn’t sure what that meant for their friendship. They had never been in a fight where Sherlock ordered John out of his house rather than speak to him. “Okay. Will you be coming over tonight?” John was worried about what would happen without Sherlock there, especially after a day as terrible as this one.

There was no answer, so John just stood and left the room, walking down the stairs and out the front door. He ignored Sherlock’s mother when she greeted him, ignored a friend on the street, who called his name and waved, and ignored his own mother when she was surprised to see him at home. He went up to his room and lay down on the bed, curling up on Sherlock’s side of the bed and breathing the scent of him in deeply from the pillow. After his dreams, John had begun to smell Sherlock’s hair at night, finding the smell of it comforting and relaxing. He wasn’t sure what Sherlock did to his hair, but it had a very distinctive and wonderful smell that usually put John in a good mood immediately.

He spent the rest of the day in bed, ignoring every member of his family who came to check on him. Different ways to make the situation better raced through his mind, everyone discarded as stupid. He had no idea what he could do to fix it. Never having had a fight with Sherlock, he was totally unprepared to make something up to him. How did you make something up to your best friend when you didn’t do anything wrong in the first place? Sherlock’s hurt was understandable, considering what he thought John did, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

When his mum stopped in to see him before she went to bed, she asked where Sherlock was, sounding concerned. John failed to stifle his sob and she came and lay down on the bed, putting an arm around him. He was happy for the comfort, even though he wished it were Sherlock and not his mother comforting him. With his head on Sherlock’s pillow, he could almost lie to himself that he was being held by Sherlock and not his mother, who had no idea what had happened. Almost.

Eventually she left, going to her own bed to sleep. It didn’t take long for John to fall asleep, exhausted as he was from a day spent crying and panicking about his friendship with Sherlock. When he drifted off, his cheeks were still wet from the tears he had shed, as he had been too miserable to wipe them away.

_John was trapped, pinned down by gunfire. The landscape was fuzzy, but he was sure that he was in the park. A table had been overturned and he was hiding behind it, the sound of gunshots ringing throughout the normally peaceful place. He couldn’t move because of the bullets flying all around him, but he needed to get out of there before the people shooting reached him. There was also a sense of urgency filling him, a knowledge that he needed to reach a nearby safe house that would soon be discovered and destroyed. It was imperative that John reached the house first to get Sherlock out of it. If he didn’t get there, he would lose everything he loved._

_He decided that saving Sherlock was worth the risk and jumped up from behind his cover, running as fast as he could. Dodging the bullets was impossible, since he had no idea where they were coming from. He felt something hit him in the shoulder, but he kept going, knowing that his Sherlock was at risk. If he were being torn limb from limb, he would probably keep running towards Sherlock, trying to protect him._

_His shoulder hurt an impossible amount, making his steps falter as he struggled through the pain. Sherlock was the most important thing, he needed to get there and save him. He reached the house, a burned out version of Sherlock’s house, just in time to see faceless bad guys dragging Sherlock from it. Sherlock’s head was lolling on his chest and it looked like it was bleeding. He didn’t appear to be breathing, but John hoped that he was just too far away to see it._

John screamed, trying to run faster, to overtake the bad guys. He was hit again, this time in his leg, making him fall to the ground. He tried to crawl, screaming helplessly, unable to save the boy he loved.

“John, John!” a hushed voice said urgently and John opened his eyes to see Sherlock looking down at him, concerned. Sherlock had one hand on John’s shoulder and the other hand was caressing John’s cheek, wiping away tears.

“Wha…?” John asked sleepily. Was he dreaming? Why was Sherlock here? He thought everything with Sherlock was ruined. Did something happen that John didn’t know about?

“Shh,” Sherlock said, wrapping his arms around John as he lay down on the bed. “You were having a nightmare. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about you and your nightmares. I should have been here.”

John buried his face in Sherlock’s chest, enjoying more physical contact with Sherlock than he ever had before. He was fairly certain that this was another dream. He was being held by Sherlock, something that had never happened before, and Sherlock had apologized to him. None of it seemed real.

After John had calmed down from his nightmare, he pulled back and looked at Sherlock’s face, his eyes filling with tears as he recalled why Sherlock had been upset with him in the first place. “Sherlock, how could you think that I could hit Anderson for something as silly as suggesting that we were dating?”

Sherlock looked confused. He turned his head and looked at John sideways, like he was studying John’s face for signs of trickery. “I was there, I saw it…”

“Were you there for the whole thing?”

“No, but I was there when he said I was in love with you and you hit him for it. Such a terrible idea, me being in love with you.”

Something about the way Sherlock phrased that made John pause. He sat up and flipped on a light, wanting to be able to see Sherlock clearly when he asked this question. “Are you? In love with me, I mean.”

Sherlock looked exasperated. “Of course not, John. You know that’s…not my area. It’s still hurtful that you would think the idea so awful.”

Well, it was certainly not a dream. If it were, Sherlock would have professed his undying love for John and done something filthy that would make John blush if it happened in real life. Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening, so John turned his mind to explaining what had happened. “He was insulting you, Sherlock. I don’t care if people think we’re together. I care that people speak of you respectfully.” John held Sherlock’s gaze, hoping that Sherlock could read the truth of the situation in his face.

Sherlock looked suspicious, like always. “But I heard him say—”

“Did you delete the word ‘pathetic’ in what he said? He was going to say something else, but I couldn’t listen to it anymore. No one insults my Sherlock and gets away with it.” His heart skipped a beat when he realized that he called Sherlock “his”, but he hoped that Sherlock would ignore that slip of the tongue.

The slip didn’t seem to register with Sherlock as relief washed over his face, followed quickly by guilt. “You have my apologies for overreacting and leaving you to suffer your nightmare. As soon as I realized what may be happening, I rushed over.” He truly looked like John having a nightmare caused him pain, which was surprising, as Sherlock didn’t normally empathize with anyone, not even with John.

John buried his face in Sherlock’s chest again, not caring that they never normally touched each other. He breathed in deeply, drinking in the smell of Sherlock, more tears welling up when he realized that he only had a few days left with his best friend. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Sherlock, not after the stress of his first nightmare in years. Not only was he sure to start having nightmares again, but he would miss Sherlock as horribly as if he had lost a limb. Sherlock was a part of John, and John wasn’t entirely sure that he was a part that John could live without.

Sherlock shushed him and stroked his hair, behaving a lot sweeter than John had ever imagined he could. He gently stroked and patted John’s head, whispering sweet things about how nothing bad could happen while Sherlock was there. It was strange, from Sherlock, but John felt that he could easily get used to this sort of attention from his friend.

Somehow, that just made it worse.

***

For the rest of the time they had together, the slept in each other’s arms. They slipped into it naturally, curling up together as if they had been doing it for years. When John did go to sleep on his own, Sherlock busy reading or doing work at the desk, he awoke to find himself intertwined with Sherlock, usually Sherlock holding him tightly, with John’s head resting on his chest. John found that he was back to dreamless sleep now, which he didn’t mind, as any dreams would have disturbed his restful, wonderful sleep in Sherlock’s arms, the sound of Sherlock’s heartbeat lulling John to sleep.

Two days before they were to leave, after the two of them had spent the last week locked in John’s room, barely leaving, John’s mum asked him to come downstairs for a talk. John had been expecting this: his mum liked having talks with John about things, especially big things. He knew she was worried about him, like all mothers, and had been waiting for this talk all summer.

“Yes, Mum?” he asked, sitting down across from her. Hopefully he could end this conversation quickly. Any time away from Sherlock was wasted time, as far as John was concerned.

“You know what I’m going to ask,” she said quietly, locking eyes with John.

John smiled. He knew that his mum, and probably Sherlock’s parents as well, thought that he and Sherlock were a couple. Part of him wished bitterly that he could tell her that they were lovers and had decided to run off and elope, deciding to never spend a night apart for the rest of their lives. “We’re just friends, Mum.”

“I peeked in on you two last night. You were sleeping like more than friends.” Her eyes were narrowed: she didn’t believe him.

John felt himself getting defensive. He didn’t feel that he had to explain anything to her. What did it matter if he and his friend wanted to hold each other while they slept? “We’re best friends. We’re going to miss each other. There’s nothing weird about that.”

“No, of course not. It’s natural to miss your best friend. It’s a bit odd to cuddle him all night, though. Boys don’t do things like that.” She was chewing on her lip. He knew her well enough to know that she was worrying about what she said to him.

“Mum, I don’t give a toss what ‘boys do’. I know it’s odd. Boys don’t share a bed with their best friend every night either. Sherlock and I have an odd friendship. It’s…it’s…” he cast about for the right word to describe their friendship. “Fraternal” wasn’t right, considering he had some feelings towards Sherlock that certainly weren’t brotherly, but their relationship was more than just a friendship. “We’re soul mates.”

“That sounds like you’re more than friends.”

“We are more than friends, but not romantically. Sherlock understands me in a way that no one else could and I understand him in the same way. We have a bond that nothing could break. Even if we both fall in love and get married, we’ll be together. We’re platonic soul mates.”

She studied him for a moment. He could tell that she wasn’t happy with that explanation, but there was nothing she could say to argue with it. “I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt,” she said eventually. “Saturday is going to be a very hard day.”

John took a deep breath and tried to push away the feeling of panic that rose in his throat at the thought of Saturday, when they would both be leaving for school. At every mention of the day, he wanted to simultaneously cry, burst into tears, hit something, and curl up and die. He knew that he couldn’t do any of those things, which lead to intense feelings of dread and panic.

Gathering himself enough to respond, he made sure to hold his head up high, not betraying his true emotions. “It is, Mum. But I’m an adult now. I can handle it. We can handle it.” John nodded and she smiled.

“Let me know if you boys need anything up there.” She stood, giving him permission to go and he gave her a brief hug, happy that she cared enough about him to be so worried, and left the room.

John ran back upstairs, surprised to see Sherlock sitting at the top of them. “Do you really believe that?” he asked quietly.

“That we can handle this? I do. We’ll talk all the time on the phone and we’ll visit every chance we get. We can do this. It’s what’s best.”

“No, that we’re soul mates.” Sherlock’s eyes were big and vulnerable, making him look almost scared.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe you. I know we’re not dating or anything like that, but I feel like you complete me. It feels like I’m going to be losing a part of myself when we go.” John blinked back tears. He really needed to do something about that crying, he had cried more in the past few weeks than he ever had in his life.

Sherlock considered what John said for a moment, and then cocked his head to the side. “You think leaving me is best?” John tried to figure out what Sherlock was talking about, sure that he had never said such a thing. When he realized what Sherlock was referencing, he smiled. Sherlock looked hurt and John impulsively leaned forward to hug him tightly, hoping that his friend could feel the love in John’s arms.

“No. The university is what’s best. Leaving you is the worst thing I’ve ever done. I’m not sure I’ll survive it.” Saying that showed more of his emotions than he wanted to show, but he didn’t care. He wanted Sherlock to know exactly how much this was hurting him.

***

The next night, the night before they separated, John awoke out of a sound sleep to see Sherlock staring at him in the darkness, their faces inches apart. John returned the stare, initially unsure what to do. When he saw Sherlock lick his lips, however, John decided to throw caution to the wind.

He leaned in slowly, giving Sherlock plenty of time to pull away before pressing their lips together gently. After a moment, Sherlock began moving his lips as well and John tilted his head, opening his mouth and licking Sherlock’s lips lightly. Sherlock’s mouth opened in surprise and John seized the opportunity to explore Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue. He probed gently, savoring the taste and feeling of Sherlock’s mouth, closing his eyes and wishing for the kiss to never end. Sherlock’s mouth was so soft, so perfect, that John never wanted to do anything for the rest of his life but kiss it.

Sherlock moaned, seeming to melt under John’s ministrations. John was so happy that he thought he was going to die: surely no one could survive this much joy at once. A little voice in his mind reminded him of what was happening the next day, but he ignored it. If he could have Sherlock like this once in a while, even if it was just on school breaks, he wouldn’t mind the separation as much. He thought his heart was going to burst from happiness as Sherlock kissed back, his own tongue tentatively sliding into John’s mouth, becoming more confident the longer it explored.

Suddenly, Sherlock pulled away. John opened his eyes to see Sherlock shaking his head, his eyes wide with panic. “No, John,” he said quietly. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” John asked, feeling as if he had been stabbed in the heart. Sherlock couldn’t be ending it before it even started. It wasn’t fair. John needed him, he needed this. If he was going to lose the regular companionship Sherlock provided, he needed to know that this was what was going to happen when they saw each other again.

“I can’t do it,” Sherlock repeated, still shaking his head. He looked as miserable as John felt, which was a feat, considering Sherlock rarely showed emotion. “Please don’t press it. Just go back to sleep John, please.”

John nodded, not wanting to risk losing Sherlock’s friendship. As much as he felt he needed his relationship with Sherlock to evolve into something more, self-preservation kicked in and he decided that keeping the friendship was more important. He moved as far away on the bed from Sherlock as he could, wanting to give him the room he needed. If he didn’t know it would be a bad idea, he would have gone to sleep on the couch or asked Sherlock to leave. Instead, he rolled over so his back was to Sherlock and tried to hide his tears.

As he was falling asleep, he was sure he heard Sherlock crying as well.

***

When it was time to part at the train station, John didn’t want to look at Sherlock’s face. He had already said goodbye to his mum, who was upset that she wasn’t able to take John to school herself, and his bid farewell to Sherlock’s parents, who were waiting at the car to take Sherlock to his school after they said their goodbyes.

“About last night…” Sherlock started, looking down at the ground.

“No, Sherlock,” John interrupted gently. “I don’t want to talk about that. You made your feelings about it clear and I’d rather not relive that humiliation right now. I’d like to focus on one painful moment at a time.” He could feel the blush on his cheeks, but he couldn’t help it. He was embarrassed about what he had done the night before, something that clearly didn’t interest Sherlock in the slightest.

“John, look up at me.” Sherlock’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

John looked up to see that Sherlock’s eyes were full of tears. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it and nodded. “I will miss you bitterly,” he finally said, reaching out and gripping John’s arms for support.

John chuckled. “Look at us, acting like we’ll never see each other again. It won’t be long before the first break, you’ll see. And we’ll text constantly. You’ll probably hardly notice I’m not there, with your studies taking up your time.”

“Right. It will be fine,” Sherlock said, attempting a smile and failing.

John pulled Sherlock into a tight hug, taking a few steadying breaths before letting him go. “You’re my best friend, Sherlock. I’m going to miss you so much. But it’ll be over before we know it.”

“And then we’ll be together?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

“Forever,” John promised with a confidence he didn’t actually possess. He knew that his devotion to their friendship would never die, but he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would make new friends, friends who could understand his experiments and appreciate them in a way that John never could.

Sherlock and John locked eyes for a long moment before Sherlock nodded and then turned to leave, after squeezing John’s hand one last time. John watched him go, wanting to break down in tears. When Sherlock reached his parents, he turned back to look at John and wave one last time.

John waved back and went to wait for his train, feeling more wretched than he had ever imagined possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit less angsty than the previous two.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“I don’t love you, John. It is foolish to think that I could ever feel love for an idiot like you.” Sherlock was standing as far away from John as the room would allow, his arms crossed over his chest as he broke John’s heart into a million tiny little pieces. His eyes were cold and unfeeling. John knew those eyes so well, knew them in so many situations, but had never seen them be so hateful, so disgusted. It was plain to see that Sherlock wanted nothing to do with John, that John was just being silly._

_John could do nothing but stare at him, wishing that it were all a dream. But it wasn’t, of course it wasn’t. The good things were in the dreams, the bad things were real life, bad things like being forced to leave Sherlock, to leave his home, bad things like being so alone after so many years of happiness and companionship. “Please, Sherlock, just…” he trailed off, unsure of how exactly he was planning to convince Sherlock that they were meant to be together. It seemed like it had always been clear to John that they were meant to be together, that their lives were incomplete without each other. It apparently wasn’t as clear to Sherlock, who didn’t understand that John was his soul mate._

_“Leave now, John. I never want to see you again.” Sherlock turned to face the wall and nothing John said could convince him to turn back. John begged and pleaded, falling to his knees and sobbing at Sherlock’s feet, feeling like he had been kicked in the stomach when Sherlock just ignored him, leaving him to suffer alone._

John started awake, looking at the back of the seat in front of him, a train seat. Looking around, he realized that he was on the train and had just left Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t hate him, that was all a terrible dream, thankfully. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked out the window at the landscape speeding by, thinking about how the train was taking him farther and farther away from Sherlock and his happiness.

He checked his phone: no messages yet, which was a bit disappointing. He had been hoping that Sherlock would text him early in their separation so he wasn’t the one initiating the contact. He didn’t want to be too clingy, but he wished Sherlock were with him and wished that they were at least in the middle of a conversation.

Typing up a message about having a nightmare already, John decided that it was too depressing and deleted it. He didn’t want their relationship to focus on negative things now that they were apart. The past few days had been emotionally exhausting and he was ready to have his normal relationship with Sherlock back, a relationship in which they spent most of their time together laughing and joking. His happiness with Sherlock seemed so long ago and he was hoping that it wasn’t gone forever, but had just bee overshadowed by their despair at leaving each other.

John thought about what would make Sherlock smile. A smile was often hard to get out of Sherlock, but John could make him smile like no one else in the world could. John thought about one of their shared interests, murder mysteries. Sherlock always figured them out long before the climax of the piece, but they still enjoyed discussing them. He smiled as he wrote his text, knowing that Sherlock would find it funny.

**I expected something exciting on this train ride, like a murder to solve, but so far no one has obliged. JW**

A response came almost immediately and John felt a warm glow in his chest. He had a feeling that Sherlock had been waiting for him to text, just as afraid of being clingy as John was. It was oddly comforting, knowing that Sherlock was missing him as much as he missed Sherlock. The fact that he wasn’t alone in his misery made everything just a little bit better and more manageable.

**How monstrously rude of them. I, on the other hand, have been inundated with murders on my journey. SH**

John chuckled. He imagined Sherlock sitting in his parents’ chauffeur-driven car, dramatically solving murders like in an old movie, making impassioned speeches as he deduced the murderer aloud, pointing an accusing finger at the culprit.

**It’s lucky they have you there to solve them. JW**

**Indeed it is. My parents’ spirits would never be at rest if it hadn’t been for me solving their murders. SH**

Of course. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were the only people in the car with Sherlock, other than the driver. The image in his head switched to Sherlock extemporizing a speech directed at the corpses of his parents and John laughed aloud, making several people sitting nearby turn to look at him. John blushed, but he kept chuckling, the Sherlock in his head still explaining the crime of the century to his parents’ lifeless bodies.

**That’s hardly much of a mystery with just you and them in the car. JW**

**You weren’t here to see my surprise revelation that it was the disgruntled elder son. He was less than pleased with my theory. SH**

**Oh no, Mycroft is there, too? JW**

Mycroft was Sherlock’s older brother, already done with school and working a government job in London. He appeared occasionally to cause trouble and harass Sherlock before returning to his lair in the city, where Sherlock claimed he was learning to run the world or something equally ridiculous. Mycroft did not like Sherlock and John’s relationship, always making comments about how unhealthy it surely was. Every time he showed up, he threw a fit about John and Sherlock sleeping together and Sherlock had to stay at John’s, whether he was working on an experiment or not. John always found it silly, but there was nothing Sherlock could do about it: if Mycroft wanted to be a nuisance, he could be a nuisance and they couldn’t stop him. John supposed that was the advantage of being an adult. It occurred to him that now that he and Sherlock were adults they could act like that, but they still seemed bound to do what was best. They had fewer options than John had always assumed adults had, which was a bit disappointing. So much for being able to do whatever they wanted.

**I’m afraid so. He’s lucky he wasn’t the first to be murdered. SH**

John chuckled again as the train began to slow as it approached the station. He stretched and sighed, knowing that he was going to have to end the conversation. They seemed to be getting back to normal, which made John happy, even though they were apart. If he could have made the train trip last another two hours so he could continue to text with Sherlock, he would have been very happy, but there was nothing he could do about it.

**We’re here. I’ll text again when I have time. JW**

There was no response, which meant that Sherlock was distracted by a fight with his brother or he didn’t want the conversation to be over and was now sulking. Luckily, John wasn’t there to experience either thing, so he focused on getting off the train and finding his way to his new home.

It was late afternoon by the time John made it through the door of his new room at school. There was already a boy standing there, surrounded by a disorganized mess of clothes and books. The boy was a bit taller than John and had dark hair. He looked athletic, like he played rugby, and he had a huge grin on his face when he turned to greet John. Well, at least his roommate could be a friend, if he were really as nice as he seemed at first glance. Maybe this wouldn’t be the end of the world after all. With a friend sharing his room, he just might survive this new life.

“Hello, mate!” the boy said cheerfully, sticking out his hand to shake. “Greg Lestrade.”

“John Watson,” John said, taking the boy’s hand and returning his grin. “Have you been here long?”

“About an hour,” Greg said, waving his hand towards the mess on one of the beds. “Just enough time to scatter my belongings in no meaningful way. I left you the bed by the window.” He nodded at the empty bed, which was in the better location with more light. Yes, he certainly seemed like a decent bloke. Hopefully he would be as easy to live with as he seemed now.

“Thanks, mate,” John said, tossing his suitcase on the bed and opening it to put his few clothes and books away. It didn’t take long, considering that John had brought very little. He wouldn’t have been able to carry much on his own and it had seemed easier to just take his few favorite articles of clothing that he wore most and leave it at that. Most of his life was on his phone or computer, anyway, and those were portable enough. He had also discovered when he was packing his things that most of the interesting items in his room at home belonged to Sherlock. John didn’t own very many things, considering his family’s financial situation, and Sherlock owned whatever he wanted, so things that interested John tended to end up at his house with no explanation.

“Is that all you brought?” Greg asked curiously. John turned to look at the two suitcases and rugby bag that Greg had.

“I travel light,” John said, plugging in his phone and setting it on the stand next to the head of his bed. “My mum is going to ship some things tomorrow.”

“Hey John!” Greg said suddenly. John turned, surprised at the noise, and instinctively snatched the rugby ball that Greg had tossed out of the air, laughing.

“What would you have done if I didn’t catch that? Just let it his me in the face?” John asked with a grin, turning the ball over in his hands. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

Greg shrugged. “I was certain you played.”

“Great, they’re making me room with a nutter,” John said, tossing the ball back. His text alert chimed and he grabbed his phone, smiling down at it when he read the message.

**So far, Mycroft has foiled six escape attempts. Number seven is a go. I will report back soon. SH**

Another text alert came as John was reading, which made him laugh. He was happy that Sherlock was still texting him and had apparently stopped sulking at John’s silence. It was nice to know that he wouldn’t be the only one initiating conversations, that Sherlock would occasionally text him out of the blue as well.

**Number seven was a failure. I am now being restrained. Typing this behind my back, as my hands are bound. If you don’t hear from me in one hour, send rescue party. SH**

“Girlfriend?” Greg asked when John set his phone down after a good laugh and looked back up at him.

John blushed slightly. Were his feelings for Sherlock so obvious, even when reading a text from Sherlock? Get it together, Watson, he told himself. “No, it’s my best friend. He--we--” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to center himself. “We’re just friends. Very close friends.”

Greg nodded, but he had an odd look on his face. It was clear that he thought John and Sherlock were more than friends and he hadn’t even met Sherlock yet. John wondered what he could do to stop people from thinking that about him, if it would even be possible to convince people that he wasn’t in love with Sherlock when he so obviously was.

“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?” John asked, changing the subject. Hopefully Greg would wax poetic about some girl and would forget all about John and his Sherlock problem.

“Not a girlfriend, but there’s this bloke I’ve been dating.” Greg’s face assumed a dreamy expression that made John stare. Greg looked nothing like John assumed gay boys looked. He looked more or less like John, actually: athletic, attractive, and manly.

“You? A boy?” John couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Perhaps Greg could help him figure out his confused feelings about Sherlock, since John wasn’t doing a very good job of that himself.

Greg chuckled, unfazed by John’s reaction. “What can I say? The cock wants what the cock wants. And boy does it want this man.” He shrugged, his face still dreamy as he thought about his boyfriend. John wondered what this boy could be like that someone like Greg was clearly so lovesick over him.

“When did you know that you liked men?” John asked with interest. Perhaps there was something there that might help John, who was apparently in the middle of some sort of sexuality crisis.

“I always have. I still like women, too. I guess gender just doesn’t matter as much to me.” He shrugged, putting some clothes away while he talked. “This bloke -- he’s older. Twenty-two and has some high powered job. You should see his suits, he’s so sexy in them. His family’s posh and strange and he’s brilliant, so he’s a bit odd. But odd in a good way. Odd in a way that’s interesting rather than off-putting. We met over the summer, when I was doing an internship with the police.” Greg was glowing with pride while he spoke of his boyfriend, looking as happy as John felt when talking about Sherlock. John wondered if one day he would be able to speak of Sherlock like that, casually mentioning to people how sexy he was in his posh clothes.

John realized that Greg had just mentioned something interesting about himself and decided that friendly was a better first impression than ‘obsessed with best friend’. “The police? Is that what you want to do?”

Greg’s chest puffed out and his eyes lit up with delight. “Yes. I’m going to join the police force when I’m done with school. What about you?”

“I’m going to be a doctor. Then I might join the army. Not sure yet.” His stomach growled and he clutched it dramatically, feeling that Greg would appreciate some theatrics. “Do you know where we can get some food? I’m starved.”

“No idea,” Greg said cheerfully. “Let’s go find some together!” He kicked some of his things into a slightly neater pile and then led the way out of the room, taking control of the search for food.

***

By the time they finished eating, they were already fast friends. Greg and John were very suited for friendship with each other: they had similar taste in books, films, and television, as well as similar hobbies. John was pleased with the situation: perhaps he wouldn’t be as lonely as he had thought, with Greg there to keep him company while he waited for a visit from Sherlock that might not come for several months. They went back to their room and finished unpacking, talking late into the night and eventually falling asleep mid-conversation.

_John was sneaking through what appeared to be some sort of bunker. There were guards everywhere, but he just managed to slip past them, pressing himself up against the wall and peeking around corners like he was in some sort of spy film. He was totally unarmed, but he had no choice in being there. He was well aware that he had important things to do in the bunker, that something terrible might happen if he abandoned his mission. He had to save Sherlock._

_He searched for what seemed like hours, finally finding the correct location. He saw Sherlock chained to a wall in a dirty cell with an open door. Sherlock was slumped over, hopefully just unconscious, so obviously unable to escape that they hadn’t even shut the door to his cell. That worked for John, as it was one less obstacle between him and the man he loved. John raced to Sherlock’s side, but before he could reach him, hands seized him and pulled him back, out of the cell. The door to Sherlock’s cell slammed shut and screams could be heard inside, screams that sounded terrifyingly like Sherlock and made John panic as he tried to get back to Sherlock, unseen hands holding John in place…_

“Wake up, mate!” Greg’s voice said and John felt someone shaking his shoulder gently, feeling nothing at all like the hands that had been holding him what seemed like seconds before.

“What happened?” John asked, sitting up sleepily. He already knew what happened, however. It had been another nightmare, of course, another nightmare about not being able to save Sherlock, about being helpless as Sherlock was hurt by an enemy that John couldn’t even see.

“You must have been having a bad dream or something… You were shouting.” Greg was crouching by John’s bed, a worried expression on his face. Of course he was worried, John hadn’t thought it necessary to inform his roommate that he might have terrible nightmares in the middle of the night, nightmares that were probably as terrible to witness as they were to experience.

John sighed heavily and looked down at his lap, embarrassed. He had hoped to avoid having this conversation with Greg, but now he was having it in what was surely the most humiliating way, after having Greg see one of his nightmares. “I’m sorry, mate. I have these nightmares. I was hoping they wouldn’t be an issue, but…”

Greg grinned comfortingly, returning to his own bed. “It’s no problem. You can’t control your nightmares. Next time I’ll just throw something at your head to wake you up.”

John grinned back, relieved that Greg was okay with the situation. He had really lucked out with the roommate situation. Of course Greg wouldn’t have a problem with the nightmares, he seemed like a really nice bloke. John thought that if he couldn’t live with Sherlock, living with someone as nice as Greg was the second best thing.

***

The next day, they were tossing a rugby ball around in the park, just goofing off. They had both unpacked and they were free until their classes started the next day, so they had time to kill. After spending the day together, tossing a ball in the late afternoon sunshine seemed like a brilliant idea, so they headed to the park where they would be able to see each other’s rugby talent. John had a feeling that they would be playing rugby together regularly, so it was good to find out how good Greg was now. Not surprisingly, Greg was pretty good at the game, at least as good as John, if not better. They could certainly have fun together playing rugby.

Greg stopped suddenly as John threw him the ball, letting the ball hit him squarely in the chest and then fall to the ground. “There he is!” Greg said excitedly, a broad smile spreading on his face as a flush crept up his cheeks.

“Who?” John asked, turning to look at the crowded park, not sure to whom Greg was referring.

“My boyfriend!” Greg told him, pointing at a figure in a dark suit.

John felt all of the color drain from his face: Greg was pointing at none other than Mycroft Holmes, who was standing about thirty feet away from them, watching them curiously. Greg was dating Mycroft? How could that be? Greg was such a good bloke, how could he be so blissfully in love with someone as miserable as Mycroft?

“You’re dating Mycroft Holmes?” John asked, turning to stare at Greg in horror. He was suddenly stricken with the thought that this might be some plan on the part of Mycroft, a way to keep John close without arousing suspicion. Would Mycroft do that to someone as great as Greg? Probably. John wasn’t even sure if Mycroft was interested in men. As far as John knew, Mycroft had as little interest in sex as Sherlock did.

“You know who he is?” Greg sounded surprised. The smile left his face as he saw the look on John’s face and Greg glanced back at Mycroft and then watched John, looking unsure of himself.

“Of course I bloody well know who he is! He’s my--he’s Sherlock’s brother!” John caught himself before he said something embarrassing about Sherlock in his astonishment.

“Sherlock? Your friend? The one you’ve been mooning over and texting all day?” Greg seemed shocked by this information, which meant that this probably wasn’t some odd, coordinated operation by Mycroft. John was pleased by that. The last thing he needed was for Mycroft to be butting his big nose in where it didn’t belong.

“I’m not mooning over him,” John corrected, starting to walk over to Mycroft, followed quickly by Greg. “Hi Mycroft,” he said curtly, crossing his arms across his chest.

“John. How interesting to see you here. How do you know Gregory?” Mycroft’s eyes flicked between John and Greg, studying their faces. His face was as expressionless as ever, but John had known him for so long that he knew that Mycroft was analyzing everything about their body language and determining how well they knew each other. It was the exact same thing Sherlock would have done in that situation. Realizing that sent a stab of jealousy through John that Greg was able to spend time with Mycroft when John couldn’t be with Sherlock.

“How do I know him? He’s my new roommate. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” John asked suspiciously, still not convinced that Mycroft wasn’t responsible for the strange coincidence.

Mycroft chuckled, which made John think that he really was as surprised as John and Greg were. “While it’s amusing that you think I possess that sort of power, no, I did not. I assure you, this comes as much as a surprise to me as it does you.”

“So you two have known each other a while, then?” Greg asked, looking at the two of them uncertainly. John supposed that it was obvious that they knew each other well, which would be enough to make anyone nervous about the situation.

“Of course,” Mycroft said with a smile for Greg and John knew that Mycroft was about to say something that wouldn’t be very good for John. “John and my brother Sherlock have insisted on sharing a bed for the past five years. He’s practically a brother. Or a brother-in-law.” He flashed John a nasty smile and John clenched his fists.

John couldn’t stop the blush that arose on his cheeks as he realized that Greg was staring at him. The fact that John shared a bed with his best friend was probably as much of a shock as finding out that his new roommate knew his boyfriend. “You share a bed with him?’ Greg asked John, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

“It’s not like that,” John said quietly. He didn’t want to admit the reason he and Sherlock slept together to Mycroft, but he didn’t want Greg to think he was odd. As far as John knew, Mycroft had no idea why John and Sherlock shared a room, he just knew that they did and he didn’t approve of it. Eventually John realized that he would have to tell Greg and that the longer he waited, the worse it would be, so he decided to opt for openness with his new roommate. “The nightmares don’t happen when Sherlock is there,” John finally mumbled, avoiding Greg’s gaze and looking at his own feet.

“The what?” Mycroft asked curiously, studying John’s face

Greg understood immediately and appeared to know that John felt that the nightmares weren’t any of Mycroft’s concern. “Ah. Makes sense, then.” He nodded, smiling encouragingly at John. John gave him a small smile back, happy that Greg seemed to be respecting his privacy.

“What makes sense?” Mycroft asked Greg, narrowing his eyes. He always hated not knowing things, especially things that concerned John and Sherlock.

“Not really any of your business, love,” Greg said cheerfully. “That’s between John and your brother. Sherlock, is it? Your parents really liked the odd names, didn’t they?” He changed the subject and continued to prattle on, John shifting uncomfortably as Mycroft stared him down.

When Greg finished whatever he was saying, John pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it: no texts from Sherlock, which was a bit disappointing, but not to be expected. Sherlock had a lot to do, what with getting used to his new school and everything.

“I’m going to head back to the room,” he told Greg. “Will you be back soon or will you be busy?” He cringed inwardly at the thought of what could make Greg busy while he was with Mycroft. Those were thoughts he certainly didn’t need of Mycroft, thoughts of Mycroft he hoped would never cross his mind again.

“I’ll be out late, hopefully,” Greg said, fixing Mycroft with a lascivious stare. Mycroft blushed, but smiled and John turned away, shivering at the thought of someone wanting to have sex with Mycroft. That was just wrong.

“Have fun,” John said, unable to stop himself from sounding skeptical that anything to do with Mycroft could ever be described as “fun.”

On his walk home, John called Sherlock, wanting to tell him immediately what had happened. He was thankful for an excuse to talk to his friend, who he was missing more and more every moment they were apart. He thought the second day would be easier than the first, but he had been wrong. He still missed Sherlock more than he had ever thought possible.

“Good evening, John,” Sherlock answered, his voice sounding even and calm, as always.

“Hi, Sherlock. It’s nice to hear your voice.” John was telling the truth. The moment he heard Sherlock’s voice, something inside of him relaxed and he smiled.

“I find myself gratified to hear your voice as well.”

John chuckled. He had always loved the way Sherlock spoke. It was so odd in such an unnecessary way, especially when Sherlock was emotional. The more emotional Sherlock was, the more odd his words were.

“You’ll never guess what’s happened.” John knew his phrasing might annoy Sherlock, but he couldn’t help but tease Sherlock a little. It was the first time they had spoken after being separated.

“Well, if I’ll never guess, you may as well just tell me.” Sherlock was trying to sound exasperated, but John could tell he was smiling. It was clear to John, who knew Sherlock better than anyone in the world, that Sherlock missed John as much as John missed Sherlock.

“My roommate, Greg, who I texted you about, is dating Mycroft.”

“I knew there was something different about Mycroft!” Sherlock exclaimed and then fell silent. “Wait a moment. Dating? Romantically?” he asked, as if just realizing exactly what John had said. Knowing Sherlock, it was likely that it took a moment longer for Sherlock to emotionally process what John said than it took him to intellectually process it. Sherlock’s emotions always took a while to catch up to the rest of his brain.

“Yes! They’re on a date right now! Disturbing, isn’t it?” John chuckled at the disgusted noise Sherlock made, which perfectly matched how John was feeling about the situation.

“I thought you said that Greg sounded like ‘a nice bloke’. There is certainly something wrong with him if he’s dating Mycroft,” Sherlock said drily.

John laughed, reaching his room and letting himself in. He dropped onto his bed, lying down and looking up at the ceiling, sobering suddenly. “I wish you were here,” he said quietly. He hoped that Sherlock wouldn’t be upset at the expression of emotion, which usually made Sherlock slightly uncomfortable. After their last night together, John wouldn’t be surprised if Sherlock didn’t want to hear any longing in John’s voice. John had no idea what Sherlock thought of him at the moment, not after how John had been acting the last week, moping around, kissing Sherlock in the middle of the night, and then spending a day crying about their separation.

“I wish we were together as well. My first day has not been as successful as yours. I have no new friends to distract me.” Luckily, Sherlock didn’t seem upset by John’s words. Instead, he sounded sad and John wished that he could do something to make it better. He imagined Sherlock being near him, where John could hold him and tell him everything could be okay. The best he could do was reassure Sherlock that no one could take his place, which was true.

“No one could distract me from missing you, Sherlock. When will you be able to visit?” He sounded a bit more eager than he intended, but Sherlock had mentioned the possibility of visiting John and now that they had been separated, John couldn’t wait to see him again.

“I might be able to convince my parents to send the driver this weekend, but I suspect that they’ll tell me that I must spend the first full weekend at school. They fear that I will spend my time thinking only of my previous life and not build a new one here.”

John knew what that meant. Sherlock’s parents were afraid that he would spend too much time thinking about his friendship with John and that it would stop him from making a new friendship. John couldn’t say that he was too worried about that happening, knowing that the probability of Sherlock making a new friend was very small, but he knew that Sherlock’s parents not wanting him to come visit could prevent him from visiting for some time. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and willing himself not to cry, despite the sudden sadness that welled up inside him.

“Well, we can talk for a bit, yeah? It’s so wonderful to hear your voice. I need more Sherlock to get me through my first day of classes tomorrow.” John knew that sounded a bit more clingy than he wanted to sound, but he didn’t care. He had missed his friend so much that he never wanted to get off the phone.

“Of course, John. Tell me all about your roommate with the questionable taste in partners,” Sherlock said in a soothing voice and John started talking.

Hours later, John startled out of a doze to hear Sherlock telling him all about the organic chemistry class he was starting the next day and how he expected that he knew everything in the class already.

“I fell asleep,” he slurred, not wanting the sound of Sherlock’s voice to go away.

“I know, John,” Sherlock said quietly. “I was hoping that falling asleep to my voice might make your nightmares go away. So get comfortable and just listen.

John sat up, pulling his shirt off and dropping it on the floor. He kicked his trousers off and climbed under the covers in his pants. He was sure sleeping in just his pants was a breach of roommate etiquette, but he had a feeling that Greg wouldn’t be back until very late, if he came back at all. John sighed happily, turned the light off, and settled down in a comfortable position, holding his phone to his ear.

“Thank you for being such a good friend, Sherlock,” he said quietly.

“Sh. Just listen.” Sherlock launched into a long explanation about something boring and John was soon drifting off, lulled to sleep by the comforting voice of the most important person in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. It's nice to get back into this story, I hope everyone likes it!

John woke up with a start as his alarm sounded, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he turned the alarm off with the other. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting his breathing return to normal. He always awoke breathless, like he had been running. The nightmare had been one of the worst, John was sure he had been making quite a racket while he slept. He glanced at Greg’s bed, which was empty. That made sense, otherwise John was sure he would have woken John up. Well, at least he didn’t have to start the day with embarrassment.

Hours later, John sat in his first ever university lecture, nervously tapping his pen on his notebook. He had always done very well in school, but everything seemed so much bigger now, so much more important. If he didn’t do well in his classes, he would never be a doctor and then his life would be a waste. So much was riding on his success at university.

A girl dropped down into the seat next to him, smiling brightly. “Good morning!” she said. “I’m Molly Hooper.” She pulled a notebook out of her bag and opened it. While he bag was open, John noticed that she had many of the same books he had.

John smiled in return, grateful to know that he wasn’t alone in this. “John Watson,” he introduced himself, holding his hand out to shake hers. She gripped his hand warmly, her smile widening at his friendliness.

“Are you as nervous as I am? I’ve been trembling like a leaf all morning,” she said, picking her pen up and then setting it down again. She certainly looked as nervous as John felt, fidgeting with her pen and books and babbling incessantly.

John felt pleased that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way and listened to her chatter, the sound of it distracting him from his nerves. He motioned her to be quiet as the professor started speaking at the front of the lecture hall and jerked his head to the front. She squeaked and paled, staring at the lecturer with wide eyes and taking rapid, messy notes.

John chuckled and started his own, perfectly ordered and neat, notes, letting himself lose himself in the absorption of new information. It was a relief to focus on facts instead of how nervous he was. John had always enjoyed learning new things, a fact that was his main reassurance that he would do well.

After the class, Molly stood and stretched, looking dazed at the rush of new information. “I’m going to get some lunch, would you like to join me?” John hesitated and she giggled. “Just as friends, John.”

John blushed and nodded. Molly was attractive, but he wasn’t interested in dating anyone at school and he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. “Of course, what else would you mean?” he asked to mitigate his embarrassment, standing up himself and packing his books away.

He followed her outside, checking his phone for any new messages, being disappointed when there were none. She flashed him a smile. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Or your girlfriend,” she said with a shrug.

“Oh, no girlfriend,” John said quickly, wondering why she would say something like that. Either she was testing the waters, which could make things awkward, or she thought he had a girlfriend by something he had done or said.

“Boyfriend?” she asked, glancing at him. “Should have guessed that, the cute ones are always interested in boys, not girls.” She turned her face upward toward the sun, closing her eyes and sighing happily as John figured out how to respond to her. “What’s your boyfriend like?”

John tried to stop the blush this time, but was unable. Trying to ignore the intense heat in his cheeks, he cleared his throat. “No, no boyfriend.” He licked his lips and tried frantically to think of something else to say, wondering why she thought he was dating someone.

“Just a bloke he’s in love with, Molls,” Greg said, falling into step with them and putting his arm around Molly’s shoulders. “So, John, do you know all of my friends or is this just a coincidence?” he asked, smiling at John.

“You two know each other?” John and Molly asked in surprise at the same time. John chuckled and motioned for Molly to talk. He was fine keeping quiet for the moment, hoping Molly would steer the conversation away from Greg’s comment about John being in love with someone.

“We just met in class,” Molly explained. “I think we have a few classes together. John was stuck sitting next to me and then I convinced him to keep me company for lunch. I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it and I didn’t want to eat alone. How do you know John?”

“He’s the new roommate,” Greg told Molly, before turning to John. “Molly’s been my best friend since we were very small, John. She’s practically the sister I never had. I’m glad you two are getting along, saves me from a headache when you inevitably get annoyed that she’s hanging out in our room.”

“So, ‘bloke you’re in love with’?” Molly asked with a sly smile. John controlled himself this time, though his heart rate picked up and another blush threatened. He surreptitiously took a deep, steadying breath, and forced himself to smile.

“Mycroft’s brother,” Greg told her with a mischievous glint in his eye. John didn’t know Greg very well, but he could tell that Greg was about to tell Molly much more information than he would want her to know, really more information than he wanted Greg to know.

Molly made a face at the mention of Mycroft and John laughed. “I’ve known Mycroft since I was small,” John told her. “He’s the brother I never wanted. And I am not in love with Sherlock, we’re simply friends. We’ve been best friends practically our whole lives.”

“Mycroft showed me a picture of him. He’d be just your type, Molls, tall and skinny. I’ve heard all about you two and the mad things you did when you were kids.” Greg pulled his phone out and pulled up a picture, showing it to them.

John stared. It was a picture from the year before, when John and Sherlock had been engrossed in some experiment they had been doing. They were sitting outside in the sunshine, taking a brainstorming break, John staring rapt at Sherlock while he said something with a smile on his face. He hadn’t been aware that Mycroft had been there, let alone had taken a picture of them.

“Wow, you really are in love with him,” Molly said, looking up from the picture. “It’s pretty obvious. It doesn’t look like he exactly hates you, either. Have you told him how you feel about him? Maybe you’ll be surprised about what he has to say.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” John said, shaking his head dismissively. Molly and Greg had a point, however, the picture looked much more like two people in a relationship than two friends. At the very least, it looked like John was pining after Sherlock. _Which_ , he told himself, _you are_. He shook his head again, trying to make that thought go away. A relationship wasn’t going to happen with Sherlock, dwelling on it wouldn’t make anything better.

“Okay, mate,” Greg said, putting his phone away. “Whatever you say. Mycroft seems to think that you two would be good together, though. He likes you and he doesn’t like everyone, you know that. He’s picky.”

***

Things settled into an easy rhythm, John going to his classes and hanging out with Greg and Molly outside of class, talking to Sherlock at every opportunity. Sherlock didn’t seem to be settling into his new life as well as John was, sounding more and more miserable every day. John did everything he could to cheer him up, but there was very little he could do so far away. John cursed his inability to go see Sherlock, the small amount of money he had saved up not nearly enough to pay for a trip out of town.

It was nice having someone taking mostly the same classes as him, because he had a study buddy that made everything easier. Molly didn’t have as easy a time with their classes, however, and when she did poorly on the first exam, she asked John to help her out. He gladly agreed to tutor her, as it helped him learn the material even better.

After their second exam, John waited nervously outside the building for Molly. He had finished quickly and left, as usual, wishing Molly luck under his breath. Molly was taking longer with her test, but hopefully that was a good thing. When she came out of the building, he stood, looking at her expectantly.

She bounded up to him and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a short, friendly kiss. “That was brilliant!” she exclaimed. “I know I did so much better on that one than on the other. Thank you so much for all the help.”

John chuckled, blushing and slipping his arm around Molly’s shoulders as they started walking. “No problem, Molly.” He was very happy to be able to help her. She was such a sweet person that he couldn’t help but consider her a close friend already.

Molly stopped walking abruptly, turning to frown at a path that ran perpendicular to the one they were on. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that your friend? The one you’re in love with?” she asked, pointing down the path.

John turned to look to see Sherlock striding away. “Sherlock?” he called. The tall, thin form didn’t turn around, but John knew it was him. He held up a finger to Molly, telling her to wait, and took off at a jog to chase after Sherlock, calling his name.

When he finally reached Sherlock, he reached out and grabbed his arm. Sherlock turned, scowling. “What is it, John?” he demanded. He looked tired and even thinner than John remembered him.

“What are you doing here?” John asked, too stunned to notice Sherlock’s tone. His heart was racing, not from running, but from being so close to Sherlock. He had a sudden urge to pull Sherlock to him and kiss him senseless. He resisted the urge, but barely. John wasn’t sure if he had ever been happier to see someone.

“I came to visit you, obviously, John. But it is apparent that I caught you at a bad time. I will return to my school, there is no need to be concerned with me. Go back to her.” He gestured angrily at where Molly was staring after them, looking uncertain.

“A bad time?” John asked, not understanding. “It’s never a bad time for you to visit.” He meant it. Nothing could be more important to John that spending time with Sherlock. He knew he had missed his friend, but he was surprised at how thrilled he was to see Sherlock now that he was here.

Sherlock shook his head, pulled his arm out of John’s grasp and started walking away. To an outside observer, Sherlock probably looked fine, but John could see how hurt Sherlock looked. He looked practically devastated. “Go spend time with your new girlfriend,” he called over his shoulder.

John stared after him. _“New girlfriend”? Why would Sherlock — oh!_ John came back to himself and rushed to catch Sherlock again. “Sherlock, she’s not my girlfriend,” he said, planting himself in Sherlock’s path.

“She’s not?” Sherlock asked hesitantly and John nearly laughed with relief. If that’s what had upset Sherlock, he could easily fix it. _Why would Sherlock be upset if I were dating Molly?_ John wondered, before pushing the thought away as wishful thinking.

“Of course not. She’s a friend.” Sherlock glanced doubtfully at Molly, who now appeared to be explaining the situation to Greg, who had shown up to meet them. “I helped her study for an exam and it went well. That’s all.”

“Really?” Sherlock had a strange, vulnerable look on his face and John just barely stopped himself from reaching out and stroking Sherlock’s cheek. He clenched his hands into a fist to control them, wishing he could fix everything that was wrong with his friend.

“Of course,” John said quietly. “I have no interest in her that way. Now come here and say hello properly,” he said, reaching out and pulling Sherlock into a tight hug. He buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder, wishing that he could hold Sherlock forever and never let him go.

Sherlock timidly put his arms around John and then relaxed, sighing and resting his head on top of John’s. “I’ve missed you, John.” The vulnerability was clear in his voice and made John hold him tighter, wishing again that he could make it better.

“Words cannot express how much I’ve missed you, you bloody fool,” John said. He took a step back and then took Sherlock’s hand, tugging him along as he walked back to Greg and Molly. “Come meet my friends.”

Sherlock made a nervous noise and allowed himself to be pulled over to Greg and Molly. “Must I?” he asked plaintively. “I have no interest in meeting people.” John knew that Sherlock was just afraid that he wouldn’t make a good impression.

“Yes, you must,” John told him, unable to keep the broad smile off his face as they reached Greg and Molly. He was sure that his friends were going to love Sherlock as much as he did. _Well, maybe not as much as I do,_ he corrected himself. “Guys! This is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Greg and Molly, my friends.”

Molly waved cheerfully, being her normal self. She was very good at making friends with everyone, if anyone would like Sherlock, she would. “It’s nice to meet you, Sherlock. We’ve heard so much about you!”

“You have?” Sherlock asked uncertainly, looking at John with wide eyes. He looked like he honestly thought John had forgotten all about him, which broke John’s heart. John promised himself that he would ensure Sherlock knew just how important their friendship was to John.

“Of course. John talks about you practically nonstop,” Greg added, a twinkle that John didn’t like in his eyes. If John didn’t stop him, Greg was sure to say something that would embarrass John and cause problems with Sherlock. The last thing Sherlock needed to hear was that everyone was convinced John was in love with him. That would cause any number of problems that John didn’t want.

“Stop talking nonsense,” John told him with a glare. Sherlock’s hand tightened involuntarily on John’s, and John gently rubbed the back of Sherlock’s hand with his thumb to comfort him, glad that Sherlock hadn’t pulled his hand away yet.

Greg’s eyes darted down to John and Sherlock’s joined hands and then up at John’s face. He raised his eyebrows, smiling, and John squeezed Sherlock’s hand before letting go of it. “We usually get lunch right now, but we can just go back to my room if you want,” he said to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, he just looked at John with large, serious eyes that did all of his speaking for him. He wanted to be alone with John, away from the intrusive presence of others. John, as usual, agreed with Sherlock, and nodded.

“I have plans to be out all day,” Greg said, breaking John’s concentration on Sherlock’s face. “And I’ll probably be out of the room tonight. So you’ll have some privacy. Come on, Molls, let’s go find something to eat.”

John was about to snap that they didn’t need privacy, as they weren’t a couple, but another glance at Sherlock’s face stopped him. Privacy might be nice, if only because they hadn’t spent any amount of time together for over a month.

They parted ways with Greg and Molly and headed to John and Greg’s room, John leading the way. He kept up a steady stream of chatter while they walked, not wanting Sherlock to feel uncomfortable or awkward. They hadn’t seen each other since John had made a fool of himself before they left for school, and John didn’t want Sherlock to be reminded of that.

Of course, Sherlock was undoubtedly aware of what John was doing. Sherlock had always been able to read John’s mind, so it was surprising when Sherlock reached out and squeezed John’s arm comfortingly. “It’s okay, John,” he said quietly. “We’re fine.”

John shot a brief, happy smile at Sherlock that was returned by Sherlock’s much less expressive smile. He had been worried that things would be awkward between the two of them when they finally saw each other, but of course Sherlock would dispel any worries as unnecessary. “You’re very important to me, Sherlock. You’re my best mate, after all.”

“You’re important to me as well,” Sherlock murmured in response, looking around as John let him into his room, taking in everything with his amazing gaze that saw so much more than the average person. “You haven’t changed at all,” he said finally.

John chuckled, trying to imagine what Sherlock was seeing in the room. John had always been a fan of sparse furnishings, so his side of the room had a clothes dresser, a bed, and his desk, which was empty except for his computer and two textbooks, everything else safely stored in the proper place. Greg’s side of the room, on the other hand, was extremely chaotic. Punk rock posters, Bond movie posters, and pictures of friends crowded the walls, while his desk was covered in notebooks, pens, and textbooks, his bed likewise covered in clothes, probably a mixture of clean and dirty ones, if John dared to hazard a guess.

“Of course I haven’t changed. It’s only been a month.” John said down in his desk chair as Sherlock flopped onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling and sighing heavily. “What, did you think that I would be a totally different person, corrupted by uni life?”

“You’re going to change at university, John.” Sherlock’s voice was sad, one of the tones that always made John want to pull him into the tightest of hugs. “Everyone does. And when you change, you’ll realize that my friendship is an unnecessary complication in your life.”

“Is that what you think it is?” John asked, feeling something in his chest squeeze tightly. The thought of Sherlock dismissing John like he dismissed nearly everyone else he knew made John want to cry. “Is our friendship unnecessary to you?”

Sherlock propped himself up on one elbow and looked at John like he was an idiot. Hope bubbled up in John as Sherlock looked at him with the familiar expression, another sign that everything was normal between them. “Of course not. Our friendship is everything.”

John grinned, hoping that his face didn’t look quite as relieved as he actually felt. He was sure Sherlock would be able to read more into John’s emotions than John wanted. “Good, because I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” he said with more bravado than he actually felt.

Sherlock studied his face for a moment and then grinned back, and everything was as it had always been.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaack!
> 
> Took a bit of a break from this (there's a note about that at the end, if you're interested), but I'm writing again and have the rest of this story planned out. I'm very excited about it. :-D
> 
> Sorry for any typos and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. :-)

After many hours of talking, going over everything that had happened while they were apart, Sherlock finally brought up one of the six giant pink elephants in the room.  John was leaning back in his desk chair with his feet propped up on his bed, where Sherlock was lying on his stomach, his head resting on his arms, turned to the side so he could see John.  Their positions were familiar, one of their favorite ways to talk when they were in John’s room at home.  It was nice to be back together, John reflected as he listened to Sherlock talk about how boring and easy all of his classes were.  John could almost forget that they only had a few short days together before Sherlock had to go back to school again, letting himself believe that they had eternity to spend together, like it had seemed when they were younger.

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped talking, watching John silently.  John used his foot to nudge Sherlock’s elbow, smiling at him.  He wanted everything to be happy while they were together, it was important to him that they make the most out of this time.  Sherlock closed his eyes and buried his face in his arms before looking back up at John, a scared look in his eyes.  “Nightmares?” he asked quietly.

Seeing the look on Sherlock’s face, John didn’t want to tell him.  The thought that Sherlock would be so upset by the thought of John’s dreams made him want to pull his friend close and never let go.  It was sweet but also made John so sad.  SIlently, John nodded, hoping that Sherlock wouldn’t be too upset to know that John was suffering.  John knew that Sherlock cared more for John than anyone ever had.

“But you’re not alone, your roommate is here,” Sherlock protested, sitting up.

John dropped his feet to the floor and reached out to take Sherlock’s hand.  “It’s not the same as having you here,” he said quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t scare Sherlock off.  “It’s not being with someone, it’s being with you.”

“I should leave school.”  Sherlock suddenly jumped up, startling John.

The sudden change in their positions and conversation made John’s head spin.  “What?” he asked, trying to figure out what was going through his friend’s brilliant mind.

Sherlock was pacing, working himself up into a frenzy.  “I should leave university and come here.  We can get an apartment and things will be normal.  You’ll still be able to attend school and we’ll be together.”

John shook his head, unable to stop himself from smiling at the absurdity and sweetness of the suggestion.  It was absurd, though, Sherlock was too amazing and brilliant to give up his education for John, even if he did think he was the smartest man in the world.  “Sherlock, you should stay in school.  I know you’re smarter than everyone there, but you should still stay.  It’s the socially acceptable thing to do, after all.”

“I don’t want to be socially acceptable!” Sherlock shouted, whirling to face John.  He looked crazed, like he was letting loose with something he had been holding inside for quite some time.  “I want to do what I want for a change, not what my parents or Mycroft or even you want me to do!”

John was stunned.  He hadn’t realized that he was putting pressure on Sherlock that was unappreciated, he had always thought that his encouragement of Sherlock was something that was needed and wanted.  “I want you to do what you want, too.”  He stood and crossed the room to Sherlock, not sure what he was planning to do once he got there.  When his hand was halfway to Sherlock’s cheek to caress it, he suddenly remembered himself and changed direction, settling it on Sherlock’s shoulder.  “I just want you to be happy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, his anger dissipating.  John knew that Sherlock was aware that John only wanted what was best for Sherlock and it made John relax, calming the fear that had risen into John’s throat at the thought that he was making Sherlock unhappy.  “I’m sorry for yelling.  Can we go to sleep, please?”

John nodded, looking at the clock.  It was rather late.  He didn’t have anything he had to do the next day, but sleeping while he could was a good idea, since he wouldn’t have very long with Sherlock to have unblemished dreams.

“Um, are we…?” John trailed off, looking at the bed.

“Of course, John.”  Sherlock turned and slipped out of his trousers and climbed into bed on his usual side.

John slipped his jeans off, feeling a bit awkward.  The university bed was much smaller than either of their beds at home, meaning they would have to lay close together.  At the end of the summer they had cuddled while sleeping, but John wasn’t sure if that was still okay.  After their disastrous last night together, the last thing he wanted to do was make Sherlock uncomfortable.

Sherlock, seeming to read John’s mind as usual, lifted the blankets up and put his arm out in invitation.  Gratefully, John got into bed, resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and smiling as Sherlock held him close.

“I’ve missed this,” John whispered.  He had almost said that he missed Sherlock, but it sounded too much like a declaration of love in his head, so he didn’t.

Sherlock sighed contentedly.  “I’ve missed you, too, John.”

John chuckled.  Sherlock always knew exactly what was going on in John’s head.

Thinking that it would be nice if John could figure out what was going on in his own head, he almost resorted to asking Sherlock.  At the moment his confusion was stemming from the fact that his cock was starting to fill with no provocation.  John whined and rolled over so he wasn’t as noticeable, scared that his ridiculous body would ruin everything by being obvious when Sherlock was finally there with John, after months of being alone.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, wrapping his free arm around John’s chest and holding him tightly.  John closed his eyes and relaxed into the hold, feeling at peace.

“Just tired.”  That was right, Sherlock couldn’t read John’s mind when it came to his feelings for Sherlock, thankfully.

“Then sleep, John,” Sherlock whispered and like magic John’s eyes closed and he fell into a dreamless, perfect sleep.

 

***

 

The next morning, John woke up to see Sherlock sitting up in bed, watching him with a smile.  “No nightmares?” Sherlock asked.

John grinned and shook his head.  “Not with you around.”

A look of doubt crossed Sherlock’s face and John knew that he was feeling guilty about going to school so far away.  John reached over and squeezed Sherlock’s hand with a smile, making his friend’s face brighten a bit.  Good, Sherlock didn’t need to feel guilty about doing what was right for him.

“Plans for today?” Sherlock asked warily.  Probably worried that John would want to spend time with other people, John thought, studying Sherlock’s face.

“None.  Well, spend the day with you.  None other than that.”  John rolled over as the door opened.

“Oh, sorry,” Greg said, stopping in his tracks, turning red.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You’re not,” John told him, glancing at Sherlock, who had blushed a bright pink at Greg’s sudden appearance.  “Just woke up.”

“Ah, yes.  I forgot…” Greg said, sounding flustered.

“He knows that we sleep together?” Sherlock asked in a whisper.

“Subtle,” John muttered at Sherlock.  He stood.  “No awkwardness, boys, please.  Greg knows that you and I share a bed when we’re together, Sherlock.”   
“You told him?” Sherlock sounded surprised and a bit betrayed.

John laughed.  “Would I have told him that?  Of course not.  Mycroft told him.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.  “Oh.  Right.”

Greg shrugged.  “It’s a bit odd, that’s for sure.  But after sharing a room with John for months, it makes sense.”

Sherlock gasped, something finally clicking in his head.  “You’ve heard his nightmares.”  It wasn’t a question, Sherlock knew.

“Bloody hard to miss, mate.  I’m glad you’re here to give the boy a bit of a break.”  Greg broke into a grin.  “I’d cuddle up with him if it would stop the screaming some nights.”

“That would cause more screaming, Greg,” John said, getting embarrassed.  “Now if we can please stop speaking about me as if I weren’t here, that would be lovely.”

“Sorry,” Greg said.  “Since you boys are awake, Mycroft and I were just about to grab some food.  Care to join?”

“How would we possibly be able to eat while watching that pig at his trough?” Sherlock asked nastily, making Greg cross his arms unhappily.

“I think that’s probably a no, but thanks for the invitation,” John told Greg, silently apologizing for Sherlock with his eyes.  Greg nodded at him, retrieving what he was in the room for and bidding them goodbye before leaving.

“That was unnecessary, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shrugged.  “Mycroft telling him our business was unnecessary.”

“Greg’s a good bloke.  I think he and Mycroft are good for each other.  Greg’ll make him more...human.”

“Nothing could do that.”

“Some people might say the same about you.”

John had been hoping to make Sherlock laugh, but instead he just got a sad sigh.

 

***

 

The next two days went by far too quickly.  John and Sherlock spent the entire time together, barely separating to use the loo.  As time approached for Sherlock to leave, John grew quieter and Sherlock more gregarious, both of them trying to ignore what had to happen.

They said goodbye in John’s room.  As Sherlock stood two feet away, John felt an overwhelming urge to pull the taller boy into a tight embrace and kiss all of his sadness away.  He knew it would only make things worse, however, so he restrained himself, instead reaching out and taking Sherlock’s hand.  “Take care of yourself,” John said quietly.

Sherlock nodded, but John knew that he wouldn’t.  “I’ll see you soon,” Sherlock said, turning to leave.

Without warning, Sherlock spun on his heel, pulled John into a tight hug and planted a firm kiss on John’s lips before leaving the room before John had time to react.

Dazed, John sank onto his bed, not sure how to react.  Did he chase after Sherlock?  Did he ignore it?  After all, Sherlock had made his feelings perfectly clear about kissing and the last thing John wanted to do was ruin everything by taking the kiss to mean something that it didn’t.   _ What else could it mean, though? _ John asked himself, more confused than ever.

“He’s in love with you,” a voice said from the doorway.  John looked up to see Greg leaning up against the doorframe, smiling.  “That boy is head over heels.”

John shook his head.  “You’re wrong, Greg.  He couldn’t possibly love me.  He made that clear.”

“What do you mean?” Greg asked.  He shut the door and sat down on his bed, frowning at John.  “You’ve said that before ‘he made it clear’.  What exactly happened?”

With a heavy sigh, John put his face in his hands and launched into a long explanation of what happened the night before they left home.  He wasn’t sure exactly why he was telling Greg, he certainly didn’t want to relive the experience, but as he finished the story he already felt better, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

After a few moments of silence, Greg finally spoke.  “So you are in love with him.”

John looked at Greg helplessly.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.  Probably.  Yes.  We’re soul mates.  It just doesn’t seem platonic anymore, like it always did.”

“You need to talk with him.  Really talk with him,” Greg said wisely.  “Be honest with how you feel and what you want.  He’ll probably surprise you.”

John nodded, knowing that Greg was right.  “I will.  As soon as I can get him on the phone, I will.  He needs to know and I can’t go on like this.”

 

***

 

Over the next few weeks, John tried to find time to talk to Sherlock.  He knew they wouldn’t be able to see each other for a while, so he wanted to talk on the phone, rather than texting.  Strangely, their conversation was erratic.  While John sent text after text, Sherlock rarely replied and when he did, it was strange.

Out of nowhere, Sherlock would blow up John’s phone with dozens of text messages, switching from subject to subject, with no focus.  Then without warning the messages would stop and he wouldn’t respond to anything for days.

It was starting to worry John, but he couldn’t get a straight answer from Sherlock about what was happening.  None of it seemed normal, it just wasn’t right.

One night, John was unsuccessfully trying to study while his phone chimed every two minutes with a new rambling text from Sherlock.  He didn’t have the heart to turn the phone off, just glad to be hearing from his friend.  At least when he was getting texts he knew that Sherlock was still alive.

The door opened and Greg entered, followed by Mycroft.  John turned his chair, knowing that his unhappiness was written all over his face.  It was strange for Mycroft to be in the room, as far as John knew Greg and Mycroft spent all their time together at Mycroft’s posh flat.  He had thought that Mycroft wouldn’t be caught dead in a university room, so something must be wrong.

John’s phone chimed again and he glanced at it, sighing.  After a moment, Mycroft’s phone chimed and he pulled it out of his pocket, showing the display to John.

“Christ,” John whispered, looking at the notification Mycroft was showing him  _ Sherlock: 36 unread messages _ .  “You too?”

Mycroft nodded, his mouth set in a firm line.  “My people have been unable to locate Sherlock for some time.  He hasn’t been attending his classes.”

John’s heart jumped into his throat.  “Where is he?”

Mycroft’s face crumpled into the most unMycroft-like face John had ever seen.  In a flash, Greg had him pulled into a tight hug and was whispering comforting words.

John turned to look at his phone, feeling more alone than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for disappearing with an unfinished story and I'm really sorry for not replying to a ton of comments. Life got away from me for a bit and I needed to fix some big things that were terribly wrong in my real life. I was hiding from reality in fan fiction and I needed to stop.
> 
> On the plus side, everything is wonderful now. My main issue that made me stop was my health, which I was slowly destroying. I've lost over 100 pounds and my weight/health goal, though still very far away, seems quite attainable now. So I'm back to writing again, in my (limited) spare time. :-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention of a possible non-con situation in this. Nothing actually happens, but it's mentioned. There's also drug use.
> 
> This isn't quite what I intended when I started this fic, but I'm pleased with it. I hope you all enjoy it, too. :-)
> 
> One short-ish chapter left after this.

_ John was running through the city, down dark alleys and through abandoned buildings.  He couldn’t find Sherlock, no matter where he looked and panic was starting to bubble up in his throat.  He burst into another building, knowing that this was where Sherlock was, but it wasn’t a good feeling, the certainty that Sherlock was somewhere in this hell hole, somewhere buried under the concrete, wood, and steel that made up this run-down, dilapidated building.  He ran through the pitch black hallways, before zeroing in on a room in the basement.  He knew on instinct, or perhaps it was the fine thread that connected his soul to Sherlock’s, that was it, that was where Sherlock was. _

_ The stairs seemed to stretch infinitely down, down, down.  He was taking them three at a time, stumbling and almost falling in his haste to get to the bottom, but they never seemed to end.  He was just doubting that he would ever reach the end, never find Sherlock again, spend the rest of his life in pain and misery without the one person he loved the most, when he could see a landing and, more terrifyingly, hear Sherlock.  Normally the sound of Sherlock’s voice was an exquisite pleasure, a joy that left John filled with delight, but this was different.  He could hear the fear in Sherlock’s voice, hear the pain and the terror of whatever demons were holding him.  John just needed to get to Sherlock, just needed to make sure that everything was okay.  He just needed to make it before the worst happened. _

Something was wrong.

John, suddenly brought back to consciousness by a noise in his room, sat up bolt upright in bed.  Knowing who it was,  _ feeling _ a familiar presence somewhere to his right, he switched on the light, anxious to see for himself, to know for certain that things were okay.

“Sherlock!”  He jumped up when he saw his friend sitting on the floor next to his bed, swaying slightly.  Yes, something was very wrong.  This wasn’t the Sherlock he knew and loved, the boy he had spent most of his life with.  John had no patience for trying to figure out exactly what was wrong, however, he needed to get his hands on Sherlock, to feel him and make sure that he was real and there.  Without thinking, he pulled Sherlock up and into a tight hug, never wanting to let go.  “What’s happening?”

Sherlock made a humming noise in his throat, a sickening parody of one of the happy noises he made when they were alone together.  John suddenly wanted to cry at the sound, not understanding what was different about it that made him feel ill rather than like everything was right with the world.  

“There’s my John.  My nice John.  Kind John.”  Sherlock was babbling, his voice low and sleepy.  

_ Did he just call me “his”? _ John asked himself, feeling his heart hammering wildly at the implications in the words.   _ Get it together, Watson.  Not the time. _

He pulled away and put his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face, studying his eyes.  “Are you high?” he asked, shocked to recognize the heavy-lidded stare of someone on heroin.  Looking down, John realized that Sherlock’s shirt was covered in dried blood, the red stain cascading down the front and causing John’s heart to skip a beat.  “Sherlock!  What happened to you!” his voice was loud and Sherlock’s eyes shot wide open before half closing again, allowing his head to nod forward before lifting it again, as if trying to stay awake.

Sherlock was mumbling something, something that John couldn’t understand.  John wasn’t sure if he was saying actual words or just syllables placed together haphazardly to make some semblance of speech.  At a loss, John did the only thing he could think to do, he started unbuttoning the bloody shirt, needing to get it off of his friend.  

He expected Sherlock to protest, undressing each other something that certainly wasn’t a part of the friendship, but he didn’t, he just kept on mumbling.  When John finally got the shirt off, he looked Sherlock over for any injuries, cataloging the expanse of creamy skin on Sherlock’s chest and stomach.  It soon became clear that he wasn’t the source of blood, with no cuts or wounds that would cause that type of bleeding, but when John saw his arm, he was shocked to see them.

Track marks.

They weren’t much, two small punctures in the skin that confirmed fears John didn’t even know he had.  They stared up at John, taunting him, reminding him that he had failed to take care of his friend, failed to protect him.

John felt like he had been punched in the stomach.  He fell back onto the bed, still holding onto Sherlock’s arm, unable to feel anything other than an intense sadness that filled him entirely, blocking out all of this other senses.  Sherlock looked down at the marks and then back up at John’s face, recognition in his eyes.

“He was nice,” Sherlock insisted, his eyes pleading with John to understand, scared and vulnerable in a way that John had never heard from his normally cool and collected friend.

“Who was nice?” John asked, a nasty feeling of jealousy shooting through his chest.  His voice sounded dazed and unnaturally high.

“Victor.  He was nice to me.  He made the thoughts stop.  The thoughts wouldn’t stop.”  Sherlock sounded like he was falling asleep and his eyes were closed.

_ Thoughts?  _  John’s mind raced, thinking about what thoughts Sherlock could possibly have been trying to block out, wondering how the hell he could have been so blind, so stupid, so utterly useless as to not see that things weren’t right with his friend, that Sherlock needed John there to help him the way John needed Sherlock to quiet his own demons.

“Sherlock!  What thoughts?” John shook Sherlock gently, afraid to know but more afraid to let his mind wander any more than it already had, listing the terrible things that Sherlock could have been thinking to make him turn to drugs.

“The thoughts.  Bad thoughts.  He made them go away.  But he wasn’t really nice.  He tried…” Sherlock’s head nodded forward as he trailed off, unable to stop the drug from putting him to sleep.

John’s blood ran cold as he caught Sherlock, who fell off his feet.  John set him down on the bed, laying him down and kneeling on the floor next to him.  What did this man do to Sherlock?  A storm was brewing in John’s chest, a storm of rage, helplessness, and guilt.  John hadn’t been there to help his gorgeous friend and some piece of utter garbage had been there to take advantage of Sherlock’s innocence and need.  The storm grew until it was nearly engulfing John, making his entire body vibrate with emotion.

He shook his head to clear it, unable to let Sherlock sleep without knowing exactly what Sherlock was saying.  He needed to know, had to find out, even though he knew that he would be extremely unhappy with the answer.  Putting his mouth close to Sherlock’s ear so he knew his sleeping friend could hear him clearly, he spoke in a firm voice.  “Sherlock?  What did he do?”

Sherlock made another humming noise and opened his eyes a crack, a slight smile on his lips when he saw John’s face near him.  The smile faded, replaced by a troubled look as Sherlock tried to concentrate enough to remember.  “He tried to touch me.  I didn’t want him to, but he did anyway.  I said no, I’m not for him.  Not for him, I’m for John.  But I was so tired and he was strong.”

A white-hot lightning bolt of anger shot through the storm inside John and he clenched his hands into fists.  “What happened then?” he whispered, unable to stop himself.

“I’m not for him.  I think I hurt him.  I left.  I’m for John, not Victor.  I came to find John…” Sherlock sighed and stopped talking, bringing his knees to his chest and curling up into a ball.

John covered Sherlock with his blanket, gingerly tucking it around his friend, the tenderness of the action calming the storm enough so John could think.  It didn’t sound like anything had happened.   _ No thanks to you, _ a nasty voice growled in John’s head.

John put his hand over a face, resisting the urge to hit himself for not protecting Sherlock like he should have and then grabbed his phone, calling Greg.  Greg answered, sounding tired but awake, probably sitting up with Mycroft while Sherlock’s brother did everything possible to find the missing boy.   _ Doing what a boyfriend should be doing _ , the nasty voice growled.   _ Shut up, I’m not Sherlock’s boyfriend _ , John told it unconvincingly.  He may not have been Sherlock’s boyfriend, but it didn’t mean he shouldn’t have been looking out for him.

“Sherlock’s here, in our room,” John said quietly, after a pause that was far too long to go unnoticed.

“He is?  What’s wrong?” Greg asked, sounding like he wanted to be relieved but knew it was too early for celebration.

“I don’t know, Greg.  It’s not good.  You two should probably get over here.  I don’t know exactly what happened, but it might be very bad.”

“Christ,” Greg breathed into the phone.  John could feel the stress radiating from his friend and he covered his face again.  “We’ll be there soon.”

John sat on the bed next to Sherlock, smoothing his unruly curls.  While Sherlock had always had exacting hygiene standards, his curls were now greasy and unkempt, like he hadn’t washed or combed his hair in quite some time.  This, more than anything else in his physical appearance, even the track marks, told John that something had gone terribly wrong in the past few weeks.  While John’s mind was running circles and his heart was trying to beat out of his chest, Sherlock was still, more still than John had ever seen.  It was heartbreaking, seeing his friend, his soul mate, like this.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and Greg came in, followed closely by Mycroft.

John looked up at them, tears starting to fall from his eyes.  “He’s in bad shape.”

Mycroft crossed the room and pulled the blanket off of Sherlock, looking him over.  John knew that he saw the track marks when his mouth tightened and his free hand formed a fist.  “He will be fine here for right now,” Mycroft told John quietly, his voice strained and tightly controlled.

“There’s something else,” John said hesitantly.  He wasn’t sure if telling Mycroft was a betrayal of Sherlock’s trust, but he didn’t know what else to do.  “I don’t know what the guy did to him, the one who gave him the drugs.  He said something...troubling.  But he wasn’t making much sense.”  Greg gave a small gasp and Mycroft searched John’s face, reading everything he needed to know.

Mycroft nodded and pulled out his phone, ever a man of action.  “Did he give a name?”

John didn’t even hesitate before responding, knowing that nothing good would come from telling Mycroft, but wanting the man, whoever he was, to suffer for whatever he had done, even if he had just given Sherlock drugs, as John was now hoping.  “Victor.  Whatever you do to him, do it twice, once for me.”

Mycroft locked eyes with John and gave him a firm nod before leaving the room to make a call.

 

***

 

John awoke suddenly, remembering what happened the night before.  He looked over to see Mycroft and Greg asleep, fully clothed, on Greg’s bed, holding each other as if their lives depended on it.  Unable to stop the sigh of pain that escaped as he realized he would probably never have that kind of comfort, that kind of security, ever again, he let it out quietly, stopping just short of whining with want for that kind of emotional connection.  

A small noise sounded behind John and he rolled over and saw that Sherlock was awake, watching him.  John had never seen Sherlock look so terrified and he reached out to caress his cheek before he could stop himself.

Rather than pulling away, Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.  When he opened his eyes again, John pointed down at Sherlock’s arm, lying on the bed between them, unable to use words to ask the question.  He couldn’t help himself, his eyes filled with tears again as he looked at the marks on Sherlock’s perfectly white arm.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, looking away from John, up at the ceiling.

“Why?” John asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the pain from his voice.  Sherlock didn’t respond at first, until John reached out and turned Sherlock’s face back to him.  “Be honest with me about something, please.  Please talk to me, I need you to talk to me.”

“I couldn’t stop the thoughts.  There were so many of them, I didn’t know what to do.  And then I met Victor and he gave me a way out.”  Sherlock was talking very fast, forcing the words out, as if he needed to get them said before he stopped himself.

Memories of all of the possible thoughts Sherlock could have been trying to suppress clouded John’s mind and he shook his head trying to clear it.  He could get answers now, he needed to get answers.

“What thoughts, Sherlock?  What couldn’t you tell me?  I would have helped you.  Or hell, Mycroft would have helped you.”  John couldn’t understand Sherlock’s thought process, couldn’t understand why such a brilliant man would do something so utterly stupid.

“You, John.  Thoughts about you.  I can’t lose you.  I can’t lose you and I will when you find out.”  Sherlock closed his eyes, unable to look at John when he said it.

John paused, unsure of how to proceed.  What had he done?  He had certainly made Sherlock uncomfortable before they left home, but he thought that was behind them, that Sherlock had forgiven John for his mistake.

“What kind of thoughts?  You’re never going to lose me, Sherlock.  I’m not going anywhere.  Believe me.”

“You will.  When I tell you.”  Sherlock opened his eyes again and locked them onto John’s.  “I love you, John.  I’m in love with you.”

“ _ What? _ ” John practically yelled.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he scrambled into a sitting position, pushing himself back into the corner where the bed met the wall.  “I’m sorry, please don’t--”

He was cut off when John jumped up onto his knees, seized Sherlock by the shoulders and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.  

A sudden joy filled John’s chest, the sort of joy he hadn’t felt for months, if he ever had.  A dazed part of his mind wondered if he had heard Sherlock correctly, but he knew he had.  As soon as the words left Sherlock’s lips something clicked into place for John, an eternal truth that he had blinded himself to.  Sherlock loved him back.   _ Why did he say no when you kissed him, then? _ The nasty voice asked and John ignored it, pretending that he couldn’t hear it for the joy he was feeling.

“Oh, you idiot.  You beautiful, brilliant idiot.  I love you, too,” he whispered, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck, breathing him in deeply.

“No,” Sherlock said, pulling away from John and standing up, starting to pace the room.  “No, no, no.  You can’t say that.  You can’t feel that.  Not you.  Not for me.”  His eyes were wild and full of an emotion John couldn’t place: anger?  Fear?  How could he possibly not know how John felt?

“Stop being so stupid!” John was shouting now, getting frustrated.

“What’s going on?” Greg asked blearily, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  He sat up and Mycroft jumped to his feet, apparently waking up like Sherlock did, immediately processing everything that was happening and ready to react.

Mycroft’s look of total control faltered when he saw his little brother, up and awake.  “Sherlock,” Mycroft said, his voice sounding weak.

Sherlock stopped pacing and turned to his brother, looking like a naughty child.  “Mycroft, I--”

Mycroft took two steps forward and wrapped his arms around his little brother.  Neither of them spoke, they just held each other, a startling show of fraternal emotion that John had never seen and, frankly, scared him a bit.

After a few moments, John turned to Greg.  “I need a minute alone with Sherlock,” John said quietly and Greg nodded.

“Come on, love,” Greg said when Mycroft and Sherlock finally broke apart.  “We need to step out for a moment.”

Mycroft turned his most penetrating gaze on John before giving him a nod and a tight-lipped smile.  He was giving his blessing, John realized with a start.  As usual, Mycroft knew exactly what was going on and he was telling John that it was okay.

“Sherlock, what the hell happened last night?” John asked, staying away from Sherlock so he didn’t startle him.  “What did that Victor guy do to you?”

Sherlock blushed and looked down, avoiding John’s gaze in a way that John really didn’t like.  “He tried… He tried to force me to do something I didn’t want to.”

“Tried?” John asked, making an attempt to keep the hope from his voice and failing.

Sherlock nodded, sending relief flooding through John.  “I stopped him.  I may have broken his nose.  I remember a lot of blood.”

John reached down and picked up the shirt he had taken off of Sherlock, holding it up.  “I think you got him pretty well. I -- you said some stuff and I wasn’t sure what happened, so I told Mycroft what you said…”  He braced for Sherlock’s anger at the betrayal, for Sherlock’s hurt at not being able to trust John.

Instead of unleashing fury on John, Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Well, Victor will never hurt anyone again.”

“Good.”  John took a step toward Sherlock, like he was approaching a wounded animal, being cautious so he wouldn’t scare Sherlock into running away from John again.  “Why can’t I say that I love you?”

The terrified look came back into Sherlock’s eyes.  “You’re straight, John.”

“No I’m not, Sherlock.  Is that why you reacted the way you did when I kissed you?” John asked, his mind racing, thinking about all the times he insisted that he was straight, telling everyone that he and Sherlock were just friends, John like girls.  Oh, he was an  _ idiot _ .

“I don’t want your pity.  Or for you to just be nice to me.”  Sherlock looked proud, but John knew him and could see the vulnerability underneath, the pain he was trying to hide.

John stepped forward and ran a finger down Sherlock’s cheek, needing to touch him.  “Sherlock, I have been in love with you for months.  Years, probably, but I’ve only known for months.  You’re my soul mate.”

“ _ Platonic _ soul mate,” Sherlock corrected in a whisper.

“No.  You’re my beautiful, sexy, brilliant soul mate.  Nothing platonic about it.”  John searched Sherlock’s eyes, wanting to make sure that his intentions were perfectly clear before he leaned in for a gentle kiss.  Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed into the kiss, slumping against John and allowing himself to be held.

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked when they separated a moment later, resting his head on John’s shoulder.

John slowly rubbed his hand up and down Sherlock’s back, not entirely sure which one of them he was trying to soothe.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Sherlock.”  His voice was sure, unwavering, and he knew Sherlock could hear that he meant it.

“I’m so sorry.”  Sherlock’s voice was a hoarse whisper, full of emotion.

John wrapped his arms around his soul mate, holding him tightly, wanting to take away all of Sherlock’s pain.  “Stop beating yourself up, Sherlock.  You don’t need to apologize.  Now come on, let’s go make sure that Mycroft knows you’re okay.  He was worried sick.”

Sherlock nodded but didn’t move, letting his hands rest on John’s hips.  John kissed Sherlock’s neck, feeling like his chest was going to burst from the love that was filling it.


End file.
